February Issue of Bewitching Book Tours Magazine

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine Issue 32 February 2015

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine is a publication of Bewitching Book Tours and Bewitching Books.

Editor: Roxanne Rhoads Design Editor and Layout: Lisa McGeen Contributors include Bewitching Book Tours Authors and Tour Hosts learn more at www.bewitchingbooktours.blogspot.com Ad space rates are: $40 full page ad $20 half page ad $10 quarter page ad You can subscribe to this magazine at http://issuu.com/bewitchingbooktours Š Copyright 2015 Stock images from www.123rf.com

Contents Silk Words Help Me Move On Feature Wolf’s Song Feature Bite Me Feature Clarabelle’s Custom Creations The Curse Servant Feature One Pot Review Icy Passage Feature Hex and the City Feature Greenwode Feature Horror 101 Review Alpha: The Series Feature Unspoken Feature Dealing with Devils Feature Blood and Spirits Feature The Immortal Who Loved Me Excerpt Monthly Feature: Bottle Bashed Where Did Soul Storm Come From?

Infected Prey Naughty Nook Beacon of Sound Feature Torrid Feature

4 14 20 22 24 28 32 34 39 43 48 55 65 67 73 81 91 95 104 110 111 117

SilkWords is the go-to source for interactive romance and erotic fiction.

With gorgeous custom covers and a clean, sophisticated design, the SilkWords site offers a secure, upscale reading environment. In addition to content on their web site, they offer stories for purchase in the standard e-book formats.

SilkWords is owned and operated by a full-time mom with a background in genetics and an RWA RITA-nominated, multi-published sci-fi romance author.

Their technology guy and site designer was the founder of Microsoft Xbox Live.

SilkWords features two formats that allow readers to choose how the stories will proceed.

Pick Your Path: Will she or won't she? With which man (or woman) in which location? With Pick Your Path romance, you decide. Romance and branched fiction are made for each other, like picking your favorite flavor of ice cream...positions, partners, and paraphernalia, oh my!

Reader Vote: Readers vote at choice points and decide how the story will continue. These stories are a great way for readers and authors to connect. It’s exciting to be part of a developing story! https://www.silkwords.com/

The Man on the Midnight Train

Elinor Diamond Genre: Contemporary Hot Romance Publisher: SilkWords Date of Publication: January 31, 2015 Word Count: Reader-vote story Cover Artist: Indie Designz

Book Description: Who knew traveling home from a business trip could be so interesting?

Will Nicole choose dinner with the sexy international businessman (sure to lead to naughtiness), or sandwiches with the adorable humanitarian (definite boyfriend material)?

About the Author:

Elinor Diamond is a writer, classical musician, and geek aficionada currently dwelling in the Seattle area. The Man on the Midnight Train is her fourth story published with SilkWords. When not composing romances, she enjoys writing genre fiction, poetry, and fairy tale retellings. www.elinordiamond.com https://www.facebook.com/elinordiamond @DiamondElinor

It Don’t Mean a Thing Kim Taylor Blakemore

Genre: Romance, Historical Publisher: SilkWords Date of Publication: August 4, 2014

ASIN: B00MG4C1E6 Word Count: 20,535 pick-your-path story

Book Description: Ruby dreams of Hollywood. A chance encounter with The Harmoneers, an all-female jazz group, offers the opportunity of a lifetime. Follow the gang as they scheme and doublecross.

And love?

Well, it don’t mean a thing.

Excerpt: Sycamore Grove, California 1931

“I’m not marrying you, Audie McCardle. I most certainly am not.” Ruby Banks crossed her arms, pressed her lips tight, and gave a definitive shake of her head. She leaned toward the mirror over her hand-medown vanity and stabbed a pin into her blonde curls. She twisted her head left and right, and fluffed the back of her hair. A strange tint of pink ran loose through the strands and waves. Maybe she should have been more careful with the mixture of peroxide and ammonia she’d used the previous night.

But between her mother running up the stairs and hugging her close, her father taking his pipe from his mouth long enough to yell that the hair potion was causing him an onset of lung disorder, and her little sister, Charlotte, jumping around and squawking nonsense about weddings weddings weddings, Ruby botched the dye job.

Never mind, she thought. If anyone asked, she’d say it was exactly the color she was hoping for.

sure.

Or she wouldn’t say anything at all. Jean Harlow wouldn’t say anything. Of that Ruby Banks was

She snatched her apron from the end of her bed, bounded down the narrow stairs, and ignored her mother calling from the kitchen. Ruby pushed open the front gate and darted down the sidewalk. She was late (as usual) for her morning shift at the diner, and she still had to pick up the pies from Mrs. Jensen on the next block.

The early morning sun promised another day of horrible Central California heat. The sky would soon brown with the upturned soils of the fields, and the air already stank from the cows.

A beat-up Model T stake-bed truck rolled past Ruby. She heard the tires slow on the hard-packed soil of the street. Gears ground, and the truck reversed and pulled next to her.

John Mayer shifted his stub of a cigar to the other side of his mouth, tilted back his fedora, and smiled. His skin was bronze and wrinkled. He rubbed a weathered thumb across his chin. “Guess congratulations are in order.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ruby lifted her head and continued walking. John Mayer kept the truck rolling slowly in reverse.

“Fine boy, Audie is.”

“So everyone says.”

“You make a sweet couple.”

“We’re not a couple.”

He scratched the shirt on his chest. “You don’t say.”

“He can buy any house he pleases in the Sears Roebuck catalog, but that doesn’t mean we’re a couple. And it certainly doesn’t mean I’m going to marry him.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do say. I have plans of my own.” She blew back a curl that had come loose. “Don’t you have some hogs to tie or something like that?”

“I don’t have hogs.”

“You know what I’m saying.”

He chewed his cigar then shifted the gears. The truck took a jump and shimmied. “You got a mean streak, Ruby. Yes, miss, you do.” With that, he was off down the road in a swirl of dirt.

Ruby wiped her mouth with her handkerchief. She patted her hair and strode up the wood steps to Mrs. Jensen’s porch. She knocked three times on the screen door frame and stepped back. Mrs. Jensen shuffled to the door, balancing five boxes of peach pies.

Only the top of half of her face was visible above the stack. She passed the boxes to Ruby and wiped her hands on a flour-coated apron. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Aw, nuts.”

Ruby’s heels cracked against the pavement. She passed the Esso station and VFW Hall and drew near the two blocks that made up Sycamore Grove’s downtown. The neon spire of the Odeon dwarfed the squat brick of its neighbors. She glared up, worried that this upcoming non-wedding would be splattered in black and white across the marquee. Luckily not. It remained safely Gable and Harlow in Red Dust.

Maud Riley stood under the awning of Rexall Drugs, waiting, as she always did, for Ruby. Her gray felt cloche sat low on her head, the nutmeg tufts of her bob feathered under the soft rim. She shifted from foot to foot, tapping her fingers against her black-and mustard-checked skirt. As Ruby neared, Maud narrowed her eyes and blinked fast before shaking her head. She pursed her lips and twisted them into a strained smile.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ruby asked.

Maud’s eyebrows met in a frown. “Nothing. Not a thing.” She waved her hand for no reason that Ruby could ascertain and fell in step beside her. “I guess I have to wish —” “Don’t you start.” She shifted the pies to her hip. “I can tolerate all the little gifts he gives me. I mean, a girl does need emery boards and cologne. But buying a house? That’s called unbounded impudence.”

“I think it was just a down payment.”

“It’s still a lot of cheek. What does he think? I’m going to roll over like a, like a starving dog and do whatever he commands?” Ruby stopped in front of the diner, set the boxes on the cement and faced Maud. “He hasn’t even asked me to marry him. And you know what? When he does, I’m going to laugh like this — HA-ha.

Because I’ve got all that money Aunt Caroline left me, and come September, I’m going to take the bus to Merced and then the train to Hollywood. And in neither of those vehicles can you fit a Sears and Roebuck house and an ego the size of Audie McCardle’s. And when he comes in for breakfast, I’m going to tell him so.”

Maud crossed her arms over her thin frame and swayed back and forth.

“You got something to say, just say it.”

Maud bit her lip and shrugged.

“What does that mean?”

“It means nothing.” Maud swung her gaze around the street and up at the Odeon spire and then stared over her shoulder at the empty diner. “You like my skirt?”

“What?”

“I wore it just for you. So you could see how the pattern came out. And such.” She gave that funny wave again, as if she were swatting a big bug. “Never mind. I’ve got an early piano lesson to give.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” Ruby bent to pick up the pies. “Would you mind opening the door for me? I mean, if you have time.”

“I always have time for you.”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right. Why?”

“You’re red as a beet.”

Maud put the flats of her palms against her cheeks, turned on her heel, and rushed away, the bell of her skirt flapping against her knees.

“But the door, Maud … ” About the Author: Kim Taylor Blakemore writes historical fiction and romance that explores women's lives and brings their struggles and triumphs out of the shadows of history and onto the canvas of our American past. She wishes to share the stories of women whose lives are untold, who don’t exist in textbooks: the disenfranchised, the forgotten, those with double lives and huge hearts filled with weakness and courage.

Her novel Bowery Girl, set in 1883 Lower Eastside Manhattan was recently re-released in Kindle and paperback. Under the Pale Moon, is due for release in Fall 2015. Set in post-World War II Monterey, California, it explores the relationship of a married woman breaking the bonds of conformity, and a combat nurse haunted by the ghosts of war.

Her interactive historical romances The Very Thought of You and It Don't Mean a Thing, are out now on Kindle and SilkWords.com. She is also the author of the novel Cissy Funk, winner of the WILLA Literary Award for Best Young Adult Fiction.

She’s a member of the Historical Novel Society, Women Writing the West and Romance Writers of America. In addition to writing novels, she facilitates workshops for PDX Writers in Portland, Oregon.

Web: www.kimtaylorblakemore.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/kimtaylorblakemore Twitter: @kimrtaylo

A Soldier’s Seduction Camo and Lace Story One at The Erogenous Zone Brandi Evans

Genre: contemporary erotic romance Publisher: SilkWords

Date of Publication: Sep 2014

ISBN: 9781941847206 ASIN: B00MK8JAZG Cover Artist: Indie Designz

Tagline: W elcome to The Erogenous Zone…

Book Description: When Gen learns her best guy friend is going back to Afghanistan, she arranges a sendoff he’ll never forget.

Will it be an intimate dinner at her place or an adventure at an exclusive erotic club?

Book Trailer: https://animoto.com/play/EjkT2i0o40WceCTraB8lNg

A Pick Your Path Story at www.silkwords.com

Excerpt: “If I were into chicks, I would so totally do you.”

“You are into chicks, Lily.”

“Not exclusively.” Wagging perfectly sculpted eyebrows, Lily Collins, my best friend since braces, draped her arm over my shoulders and then motioned at the dressing room mirror. “All joking aside, Gen, you’re totally smoking in this nightie. I mean, just look at the way it shows off your rack. Who wouldn’t be mesmerized?”

Cocking my head to the side, I scrutinized my reflection. Lily had a point. The deep blue baby-doll possessed a certain breast-defying quality, and anything that could make The Girls stay in place was a testament to modern fashion design.

A delicate floral lace covered demi-style cups. A satin sash tied beneath the bodice, contributing to the grand illusion that gravity hadn’t waged a thirty-five-year war on my breasts. The same transparent lace overlaying the bodice fell in flowing waves, stopping just below my ass. The fabric managed to cover enough of my lower belly and inner thighs to keep me from feeling completely insecure.

Overall, I gave the ensemble a rating of classy with a side of seduction. Option number two, however, had a rating scale all its own.

I plucked said option from its hook and fitted it against me. The provocative two-piece leather bustier shouted sex. No, it screamed sex. The pure unadulterated kind that left you utterly exhausted and dripping wet between the thighs.

A purple center strip — overlaid with black lace — added a splash of color. The leather had hugged and shaped my torso like a second skin and sent my breasts spilling over their cups in what I hoped was an enticing display of cascading flesh. More precisely, I hoped Liam, my business partner and one of my closest friends, would find it enticing.

Liam England and I had met in an “Introduction to Programming” class in college, and an instant friendship had bloomed. Emphasis on friendship. And over the years, we’d remained close. We hung out on the weekends. We talked about the people we’d dated and those we wanted to date. We watched old movies.

I’d been someone to lean on as his wife had fought — and eventually lost — her battle with cancer. He’d been the same for me after my husband had been arrested for soliciting a prostitute.

Our relationship, in many ways, was already very intimate, but we’d never crossed the friends-tolovers line. I’d never really wanted to. At least I hadn’t thought I wanted to, but then he’d told me his National Guard unit was going back to Afghanistan, and in that moment, everything had changed.

Now, thoughts of Liam occupied my every waking moment. I wanted him like I’d never wanted another man, and thanks to Lily, I had a plan guaranteed to seduce my sexy soldier. Well, most of a plan. A few details still needed to be ironed out, like where we’d go and what I’d wear.

Lily gathered my mess of auburn curls into a loose knot against my head. “Just imagine what you’ll look like when you make your move on Liam. Hair pulled up. A little natural make-up giving your creamy complexion some color. Your skin soft and fragrant from a spa prep day. Fingernails and toenails painted to match the blue or purple of whichever sex-tacular lingerie you choose.” She made a show of lifting the front hem of my outfit. “And maybe I can even talk you into getting a Brazilian wax so Liam doesn’t have to hike through miles of bush to get at your juicy treasures.”

Laughter broke through anxiety, and I pushed her hand away. “Lily Collins, you’re incorrigible.”

“You know that’s right.” Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, she let my curls fall. “I can’t help it, especially when it comes to helping my main girl get laid.”

Before I could stop them, a swarm of erotic images invaded my thoughts. Me with my legs spread, a certain gloriously handsome blond between them. Kissing me, making love to me.

Liam ...

I shivered, the images growing more vivid. Desire heated my blood and sent an arousing heat shooting straight to my —

“Oh. My. Gawd!” Lily squealed. “You’re picturing it, aren’t you? You and Liam getting it on.”

“No!” I lied. “Of course, not. I was just —” “Liar, liar, crotchless panties on fire.”

Damn Lily Collins for being able to read me so well. “Okay, fine. I was picturing it. So what?”

“So nothing.” Her lips curled into a sweet, yet sad smile. “I only wished you’d realized how you felt about him earlier.”

“Me too.” With Liam heading overseas soon, I didn’t have the luxury of time. I had to tell him how I felt sooner rather than later, and how and where I told him depended on the lingerie I took home. My choice in clothing would define the role I played. The sexy girl-next-door who lures her conquest with promises of sensual food served in a quiet, yet provocative setting. Or the bad girl who entices her man with a night of public fornication at The Erogenous Zone, an exclusive Dallas club where sexuality and anonymity rule.

But which role did I want to take?

Crap, I usually wasn’t so indecisive.

My shoulders slumped, my gaze sliding to the ceiling. “I can’t decide, Lily. I like them both.”

“There’s no wrong answer. Either one you choose, you’ll knock Liam’s pants off. Literally.”

“Well, that’s the idea.” I handed Lily the bustier. “I’m making this too hard, aren’t I?” say?”

“Pretty much.” Lily wrapped an arm around me. “Stop stressing and listen to your gut. What does it “That I should forget all this seduction madness and just tell Liam how I —”

“Genevieve Foster, don’t you dare!” Lily turned me so I faced her. “The man you love’s about to go to war. Doesn’t he deserve to be wooed?”

“He’s a guy. I doubt he gives a rat’s ass about ‘wooing.’”

“True. But what about you? Don’t you want to give him a sendoff he’ll never, everforget?”

My eyelids drifted closed. I wanted to give Liam my body, yes, but I wanted to give him my heart, too. I wanted him shipping out knowing I loved him. No strings attached. He didn’t have to return my affection — although I wouldn’t lie, I’d be ecstatic if he did.

“Yes,” I finally answered.

“All right then!” Turning me so I again faced the mirror, Lily held the leather bustier beside me so I could examine both outfits simultaneously. “Which way do you want to play this?”

I pictured myself in both scenarios. Wearing the baby-doll in my living room while offering Liam chocolate-covered nipples as a sexual appetizer. Or hiding the bustier under a flirty wraparound dress as Liam and I indulged in whatever sinful pleasures we’d encounter at The Erogenous Zone. Either way, Liam and I were in for one erotic adventure.

About the Author: Brandi Evans was raised by a caravan of traveling Gypsies. She spent her days learning the ways of her people and her nights lost in legends as old as time. Okay, not really, but that's way more interesting than the truth!

In reality, Brandi grew up the oldest child of an ordinary family. Grade school, middle school, high school.

Nothing extraordinary happened until she left the nest. She joined the military, went to college, got married, and became a mom. And somewhere along the way, she discovered she liked to read—and write!—stories hot enough to melt eReaders.

These days, she calls The Natural State home where she lives with her hubby, two beautiful daughters, two dogs and a cat who has yet to realize she doesn’t own the place. Soldier. Wife. Mom. Multi-published smut writer. Brandi's life might not be "traveling Gypsy" interesting, but she's had fun. And in the end, isn't that all that really matters?

Website: www.BrandiEvansAuthor.com Blog: http://brandievansauthor.blogspot.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Brandi-Evans/674481219297772 GoodReads: http://bit.ly/eScaNr Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/brandievans1/ Twitter: http://twitter.com/brandi_evans

Hey guys, I’m Angie Hemmings and I’m the author of Help Me Move On which is the first book in The Southern Ties series and today I thought I would talk about what made me decide to write this series.

First of all let me say that I didn’t start out as a writer, shocker right? I actually found the first novella I ever wrote the other day, or my mother found it and I will say this much...I’ve come a long way. I remember I stopped writing after I wrote that novella because I didn’t think I had lived enough and I wanted to live life more before I really sat down and started to write. I was right to do this because I don’t think I met my husband for many many years after that and he’s given me a reason to write because he’s shown me what that true love I write about really is. I mean you can read about it, you can dream about it, but to experience it is life changing and thanks to my husband I have a deeper understanding of what it means to find your soul-mate.

When I came up with the idea for Help Me Move On I was driving around Pilot Mountain. See my day job isn’t writing but home health which is probably the furthest thing you could get when it comes to becoming an author. I was driving around when the original idea came to me and just like with the first book that I wrote, it just wouldn’t go away. Writing is like that for me though, I’ll get an idea and the next thing I know I’m sitting down at my computer and I can’t stop until I have it down.

So The Southern Ties Series began its initial development with Help Me Move On and I was so involved in writing that I took a break from the reality of home health and I focused on just writing which I have to say was one of the best years of my life. I wrote Help Me Move On in about two months and then I put it away.

Yes, I put it away and I didn’t look at it because I wanted to come back to it with fresh eyes but the only problem was Isaiah Atwood. That man haunted my freaking dreams. So dark and complicated. He just needed more. And that’s when Isaiah’s Story came about. In Help Me Move On we see Isaiah with Ally and we’re always thinking about how close they were. I mean think about it, they lived in Uganda for a year together and yet they weren’t romantically linked even once? That was when I came up with the idea for Isaiah’s Story, because I wanted him to have his happily ever after and I wanted to break him. I’m a very twisted woman I suppose because I really enjoyed breaking Isaiah Atwood and I think when you read Isaiah’s Story which will come out in June this year you’ll like it as well.

You’re going to get a glimpse of the woman who will break Isaiah Atwood in Help Me Move On, this blond bombshell by the name of Alexis Williamson. She’s the only woman to ever turn Isaiah’s head and when she’s in trouble he’s the one who comes to her side. The truth is a hard thing to swallow and at the end of Help Me Move On Isaiah finds himself at his own crossroads and he has to face the consequences of his actions. The reality of what he does will be hard for him to swallow and it’s Alexis who will be there, except Alexis comes with her own past...like the fact she was romantically linked to Isaiah’s brother Henry. Isaiah’s relationship with Alexis will threaten his relationship with his brother Henry which leads Henry to meeting the woman who leads to Coming Home which is the third book in The Southern Ties Series.

See here’s my problem, I started with one book and then I thought Isaiah needed his own story and by

the end of Isaiah’s Story I thought the exact same thing about Henry. He’s this wounded man that you just want to fix. Who better to fix a broken heart than a gorgeous heart surgeon who also happens to be a hardcore Duke Bluedevils fan?

So we reach the third installment in The Southern Ties Series...Coming Home. Keeping in mind my background is in home health care and one of the things I deal with is hospice. I’m on the end of home care where I like to get my patients better and then set them free so to speak but unfortunately I have patients who aren’t going to get better and that’s when hospice comes into play. Watching the families deal with hospice and the reality of losing a parent fueled Coming Home.

We learn in Isaiah’s Story that Henry was in love with Alexis, or at least he thought he was in love with her. Everything changes when he’s sent by his father to Raleigh, North Carolina to pick up one Rebecca Jackson. We meet Rebecca at the end of Isaiah’s Story along with her father Dr. Thomas Jackson who we learn in the beginning of Coming Home is dying from cancer. Rebecca has to face what many face as they get older; the pending death of a parent and it’s never easy. This book was especially hard for me to write because when I write I put myself in their shoes, I feel what they feel and I think about what I would do if I were in their shoes.

With Rebecca there isn’t a magical moment with Henry. She doesn’t touch his hand and immediately know he’s the man she’s supposed to be with. She’s dealing with her father’s illness, watching him slowly fading away all the while she keeps running into this handsome asshole...which is exactly what Henry Atwood is when she first meets him. Henry doesn’t care what people think about him and most definitely doesn’t want a relationship or feelings in general when it comes to women. To Henry women are disposable, you use them to satisfy whatever need you have and then you’re gone. He doesn’t want drama in his life and yet he can’t deny the pull that exists between him and Rebecca. A friendship between the two of them blossoms into more but Henry’s scars run deep and his one insecurity is his downfall.

What I wanted to do in Coming Home is show not only what it felt like to watch your parent die but I wanted to tear them apart, I wanted Henry to screw up so badly that you just know there is no redemption for him. Henry thought he loved Alexis but in reality he had no idea what true love really was until he met Rebecca. Her snarky comments and inability to put up with his bullshit wins him over and when he loses her over his own stupidity we get to see what a real man is. Yes, I said it. A real man, and that’s exactly what Henry is. Yes he screwed up and yes he knows it but damn if he doesn’t own up to his faults and do the one thing I absolutely love the most about him. He fights! If you’re lucky enough to find that person, the love of your life, no matter what happens you fight. You fight until your last breath because that kind of love is worth fighting for.

So to conclude my little rant I will say this...The Southern Ties Series started while I was driving around Pilot Mountain and one love story has led to another and then another. When I started writing I couldn’t stop and for over a year I wrote novel after novel. At this point I think I have 7 books but I always kept going back. A month after finishing a book I’ll go back and reread it, twerk the parts I like or don’t until finally reaching the point where I’m ready to release this series to the world. Maybe I’m not the next NY Times Bestseller but I’m okay with that. I don’t write to become a millionaire, I write because I love it and because I get an idea in my head and I can’t let it go until I have a finished manuscript. I publish because I have really awesome fans who give me a reason to keep putting my books out there for the world to see.

Help Me Move On The Southern Ties Series Book 1 Angie Hemmings Genre: Romance ISBN: 978-1502871800

Number of pages: 248 Word Count: 81079 Book Description: Ally Dunn is a small town girl with big dreams planning a wedding that would never happen. Ally’s life revolved around being Eric’s wife…until she watched his best friend Isaiah step off that plane, his arm in a sling and Eric's casket behind him. Her grief consumed her, their last conversation not one filled with love but an argument over her favorite flower. He knew her favorite flower, he was just busy…fighting for his country. Isaiah made a promise to Eric, he would keep Ally safe even if that meant saving her from herself. Isaiah takes Ally away when her grief becomes too much but their return brings about something she never expected.

When Ally meets Colton Walker she knows her life will never be the same. She never planned to move on from Eric, the mere idea of moving on would send her into a panic. How do you move on from the man you loved, the man who shared your dreams, who made your heart feel whole? But Colton doesn’t push her, he doesn’t pressure her, he gives her everything she ever needed and he does it effortlessly.

Falling in love with Colton was like taking her next breath; she didn’t have to think about because it came naturally…only a cloud hangs over Ally. Isaiah trains her in Krav Maga, Eric trained her in gunfire. Colton sees all of this, asking the one question she can’t answer, why? Why would a woman who lives in such a small town need to know such aggressive self-defense? Isaiah vows to keep her safe, going so far as to track her every move…but why?

Surviving Eric’s death almost killed Ally, the hole in her heart never truly healed until Colton. Falling in love with Colton was easy, fighting for her life when everything she thought she knew was wrong…that was a completely different story.

Available at Amazon Excerpt:

Ally went upstairs, her mind filled with questions that Isaiah wasn't willing to answer. She needed to get away from him at that point. She walked up the wide wooden stairs, into her bedroom, her hands working to unbraid her hair as she walked over to the bed. She sat down, her hands sliding across the smooth comforter.

So many questions but no answers.

She lay back, her eyes following the large wooden beams above her head. The stone fireplace covered the entire wall in front of her bed, large stones in various shades of grey. Sitting beside the fireplace next to the checkerboard was something new...a dozen lavender roses.

Ally shot up, her hand going immediately to her chest, but the chain wasn't there. She got out of the bed, looking to the night stand for the chain.

I took my chain off, I sat the chain down on the nightstand. Last night, I did this last night.

But it wasn't there. The chain, the dog-tags.

They were gone.

Ally dropped to her knees, laying her body flat to the floor as she looked under the bed. Using her hand to stretch, she swiped her hand across the wood floor.

Crap.

She looked under the nightstand, pulling it away from the wall. The dog-tags missing. She shook her head, her arms crossing when she walked over to where the roses sat beside the fireplace. A dozen, lavender roses with a sweet scent that filled the room.

Yet still, no card.

She was in a home that had two separate gates to go through before you could even get to the house.

Yet someone had managed to get into her bedroom?

Her mind was going a mile a minute. There was something she was missing but she couldn't figure out what it was. Then she thought of it...the panic room. Eric designed the room for her,

the roses always came on a specific date, and the panic room required her fingerprint as the key...

Ally walked over to the wall, her hand skirting along the edges until finding the right stone.

Pulling at the stone she opened the door, typing in the code and placing her finger on the screen.

The door opened long enough for her to walk through. Using her hand she slid it along the wall, flipping the switch to light the room. She heard the door closing behind her, but she was to focused on the panic room and what she was missing. She started with the wall next to the door, her eyes scanning the flat, grey wall covered by a large painting hung in the middle. She stood back, admiring the painting, the water was a blue that had always reminded her of Eric's eyes, a scattering of pink water lilies floated along the water. That painting had been one of her favorites when she was in college.

And then she remembered.

Like a lightbulb going off, she remembered the time Eric had taken her to the museum in Raleigh. She had gone on and on about the water lilies and how she wanted a print but they couldn't find one when they were there. And now, here in the panic room he had built for her sat a print of the painting she had wanted so long ago.

She turned away from the painting, looking through the rest of the room, sliding her hands along the sides of the couch, going to the shelves and pulling out packages of dehydrated food.

The dog-tags were gone, taken by the person who brought her the flowers.

What am I missing...

She walked around the room, the last twenty-four hours coming back to her. The attack, the desperation she saw in the mens eyes. They wanted to know where someone was, but she didn't know who that person was. Eric was gone, she watched his casket go into the earth and she watched the men cover that same casket with dirt. Ally looked through the entire room, ending up in front of painting again.

The painting...

Why she did it, she wasn't quite sure but she decided to move the painting. Sliding her hands along the sides she lifted it from the hook on the wall, placing it on the floor by the still closed door and turning back to the wall.

Oh my God...

Her hand covered her mouth, standing there she found herself looking at eight different television screens. Each screen now showing different parts of the house, only not just the cabin but her house...her house in Pilot.

Her living room.

Her kitchen.

Her bedroom.

Someone could stay in this room and watch her. She knew Isaiah owned his own security business. He was the reason she had such a state of the art security system, Isaiah was always experimenting with different ways to increase security.

But had Isaiah installed cameras in her bedroom? To be able and watch her, watch her when she was changing, when she thought she was alone...was disgusting.

A knock woke her from her gaze, completely engrossed in the fact that she had absolutely no privacy. She could easily see Isaiah standing at the wall to the panic room, knocking on the door to get her attention. That screen kept going to each room of the house.

Ally swallowed back the bile that had crept into the back of her throat, turning to open the door. Isaiah stood there, his usual calm self, only now his features seemed harsher. More calculating.

"Lunch is ready," he looked over to the screens and back to her, "but I guess you're not hungry anymore."

"No," Ally shook her head, walking back to where she had stood and pointing towards the screens. Isaiah saw the screens, looking around the room as though she weren't alone. "Isaiah tell me you didn't do this."

He watched the screens, watching as each screen skipped to another area of each home. He looked back to the painting leaning against the wall before looking to Ally. "What made you decide to take the painting off?"

"Because Eric bought that painting for me."

Isaiah said nothing, his hand lifting to rest underneath his chin. "How do you know this Ally?"

"It's the only thing I ever asked him to buy for me that he couldn't buy." Ally walked over, sitting down on the purple sofa and resting her arm against the back, her head laying on her arm. "He wanted to but they were out of prints. I never mentioned the painting again and no one else knew about it Isaiah...including you." She looked at him, their eyes locked on each other. She could feel her heartbeat taking off, completely uncontrolled as she found the strength to speak. "Have you been buying me the roses," she asked, her eyes meeting his.

He didn't speak, his finger under his chin as he shook his head.

"Did you take the dog-tags," she asked. "Isaiah I never take them off, until last night...and I know...I know where I put them."

Again, he only shook his head.

"How accessible is this room Isaiah," she asked, her eyes going back to the screen that showed her bedroom in Pilot.

Isaiah started shaking his head, pacing back and forth in the room. He walked over to where she sat, her feet tucked underneath her. "The two of us and Eric, but Ally, Eric's dead he can't sit around and watch you."

She looked down at her hands, now intertwined on her lap. "Isaiah he's alive and he's watching me." She looked back over to the screens, Isaiah finally realizing her bedroom was one of the rooms with cameras.

"Unless you put the cameras in my bedroom," Ally asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, I could easily watch someone getting dressed in my bedroom."

It was just....wrong.

"Ally," Isaiah was completely dumbfounded.

"Tell me you didn't put cameras in my bedroom," Ally began, "please Isaiah. I need to at least know you wouldn't do something like that."

"No," Isaiah walked over sitting by her side. "I have cameras on the main floor, but not in your bedrooms."

Ally reached over, her hand laying lightly against his hand that now sat in a fist by his side.

"Tell me everything."

Isaiah shook his head, running his hand through his hair and sitting back in the couch. "Ally I can't."

"The hell you can't." Ally jumped to her feet, walking over and pointing to the screens.

"Look. Isaiah seriously, LOOK." She pointed to the screens. "If you didn't put the cameras in my room, then someone did and they obviously had to have access to this room to watch me."

"Ally," his voice was so calm.

But he didn't understand the anger that was boiling in her at that moment.

"Ally please calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down when you aren't the one who's had a camera in your damn bedroom!" She walked over to the shelving unit and staring at the rows upon rows of dehydrated food.

"Ally no one's been here," Isaiah continued. "If they were I would know."

"Eric was just as trained as you were with security," Ally said with a huff. "I get it, once a Delta always a Delta. But this..." She pointed towards the screens again. "I want the cameras out of my bedroom Isaiah."

"When we get back I'll find them and remove them." He walked over to where she stood by the shelves along that back wall. "Ally I'm sorry this is happening to you."

She took a deep breath, her eyes closing as she tried to find some peace. For once to not have to worry about something or someone. She let out her breath, looking up to Isaiah. "I'm not sorry it's happening. I'm sorry that you won't tell me what he did. I loved him and I think he's alive...whether you believe that or not. So me not knowing is only putting me and everyone I love in more danger."

Everyone she loved...

Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes closing and her heart breaking. "If he's alive then he

knows about Colton." She looked over to Isaiah tears welling in her eyes. "I finally moved on and now..."

"Ally..."

She shook her head, her hand flying up when Isaiah walked over to her. "He's watched me moving on with my life." Ally ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the ends as she realized what was happening. "He sent me the roses on days that only I would know were significant..."

Ally walked back to where the painting now sat against the wall, her eyes scanning the canvas.

"You deserve to be happy," Isaiah said, his hands going to rest on her shoulders. "We don't know he's alive."

"Yes...we do," she said, her tears falling and her fingers running along the bottom corner of the painting.

The painting she had wanted he made sure Isaiah bought for her.

"What are you talking about Ally?"

"When did you bring the painting to this room Isaiah," she asked, her tears were worse and her fingers running along the message he had left for her. Four simple words written in Eric's handwriting on the back of that painting.

I'll never leave you...

She looked up to Isaiah, the blood draining from face as he looked at the words on that painting.

"Before we left for Uganda," he whispered.

She stopped, "He's been trying to tell me all along I just didn't want to believe it and now..."

She started shaking her head, "No matter what I do I'm going to hurt someone that I love."

About the Author: Angie Hemmings is a self-proclaimed romance addict. Her love for romance began at an early age but after years of reading romance novels she found herself wanting more which led to her first novel. She's originally from Mount Airy, a small town in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and she loves the art behind creating a new story. Getting lost in the romance, the struggle between her characters is what makes Angie Hemmings continue her work and writing is what she loves. www.angiehemmings.com @angiehemmings04 https://www.facebook.com/pages/angiehemmingscom https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7398893.Angie_Leonard_Hemmings

Excerpt: Summer McCoy perched in the uppermost branches of her special Ponderosa pine, in raven guise, engaging in her favorite pastime, spying on the lone wolf chopping wood below. Two days’ worth of whiskers shadowed his rigid jaw. She loved when he forgot—or didn’t bother—to shave. Scruffy stubble suited him.

The sun beat down on the back of his bronzed neck and shone on his hair, the color of roasted coffee, a shade lighter than the dark shadow that charcoaled his face.

She fluffed her feathers in anticipation. Take your shirt off, Brick.

She’d heard the giant werebear, Gee, call him that name a decade ago. He’d made some joke about a wall and the hardness of the male’s head. But Brick hadn’t laughed back then. Not ever.

He’d fascinated her from the moment he’d arrived in the glade, bruised and battered. Once she’d learned his name, she’d treasured it, taking pleasure from repeating it often. Secretly, of course. Unwrapping the syllable frequently to admire its radiance in the privacy of her tree house, the way a woman wearing pearls against her warm skin enhanced their luminosity and iridescence.

Now, as if he’d heard her silent urging, he complied with her plea, shrugging out of the plaid flannel and flinging it onto a tree stump. Her beak opened as she sucked in breath. Sweat glistened on his torso, glazing rippling pecs and abs, shoulders broad enough to span the Badlands. A huge, incredible specimen of masculinity. Thick biceps flexed as he wielded the ax. Her heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Heat licked her.

Wolf’s Song Black Hills Wolves Taryn Kincaid Genre: Paranormal romance Publisher: Decadent Publishing Date of Publication: January 30, 2015

ISBN: 978-1-61333-676-2 ASIN: B00QKLHNQM Number of pages: 59 Word Count: 19,000 Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde Book Description: Ten years ago, visions of death and the babble of lupine voices in his head, drove lone wolf Brick Northridge to challenge his cruel and greedy pack alpha. Beaten by the alpha’s thugs and banished from the pack, Brick lives a life of seclusion in a mountain cabin in the Black Hills.

Born into a rival clan of feline shifters, skinwalker Summer McCoy, in her guise as a raven, watches Brick from afar, giving him back a reason to live through her sweet songs and special gifts.

But when her clan attempts to tear them apart and threatens the pack that banished Brick so many years before, will their love be strong enough to withstand the forces bent on their destruction?

Pre-Order at Amazon: US | Canada| UK | Australia | Kobo | iBooks About the Author: Taryn Kincaid is a former award-winning reporter and columnist, covering everything from fires and homicides, to corrupt politicians and hero dogs. Nowadays, she haunts courthouses (in least paranormal way).

She is the author of the Sleepy Hollow series-LIGHTNING,THUNDER,FROST,HEAT WAVE and IN FROM THE COLD -- sexy paranormal romances for Decadent Publishing's popular 1Night Stand series; BLIZZARD, a short erotic romance for Decadent's The Edge line; HEALING HEARTS, a Regency romance from Carina Press, and SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS, an erotic paranormal romance from The Wild Rose Press. Books 1-4 of her Sleepy Hollow series, plus Blizzard, have been compiled in the SLEEPY HOLLOW edition, available in paperback and digital formats.

Coming January 30, 2015, WOLF’S SONG, a sexy paranormal romance for Decadent Publishing's new Black Hills Wolves shifter line. And coming February 24, 2015 from Fated Desires Publishing, IF YOU CAN'T STAND THE HEAT, a contemporary foodie romanceCheck out the fun videos for Thunder, Lightning and Frost.

Visit Taryn at her website http://tarynkincaid.com or her blog http:// dreamvoyagers.blogspot.com as well as Twitter, Facebook , Amazon and Goodreads.

Bite Me Robyn Bachar Genre: Erotic paranormal romance Publisher: Samhain Publishing Date of Publication: March 17, 2015 ISBN: 978-1-61922-457-5 ASIN: Number of pages: 211 Word Count: 80k Cover Artist: Kanaxa Book Description: Consumed by the need to feed…

After an out-of-control spell triggers the zombie apocalypse, Lizzy Addams is left in the ruins of Chicago with only the slightly unhinged commentary—and endless erotic appetites— of her inner demon for company. Her blood supply dwindling, she is forced to find survivors to feed from, or die trying.

Officer Angela Kinney was on duty when hungry corpses overwhelmed the city. The survivors look to her for leadership, but nothing prepared her for a beautiful monster who offers safety in exchange for blood.

Sean MacMillan never expected to see Lizzy again after she rejected his attempts to lure her back to the vampire fold. But with his flock threatened by the horde and his murderous vampire brother, Lizzy is the only one he can trust to keep them safe.

The veil of secrecy shrouding the supernatural world torn apart, humanity’s only hope is to forge an alliance with vampires, werewolves, and things that go bump in the night. Though accepting their aid could be a devil’s bargain that puts humans at the bottom of the food chain.

Warning: Contains vampire orgies, angsty demon sex, a frisky lesbian werewolf, light kink, and enough sex toys to start a store.

Available at Amazon BN iTunes Kobo Samhain Publishing

About the Author:

Robyn Bachar enjoys writing stories with soul mates, swords, spaceships, vampires, and gratuitous violence against the kitchen sink. Her paranormal romance Bad Witch series, historical paranormal romance series Bad Witch: The Emily Chronicles, and spicy space opera romance trilogy Cy’ren Rising are available from Samhain Publishing.

Her books have finaled in PRISM Contest for Published Authors, the Passionate Plume Contest, and twice in the EPIC eBook Awards.

As a gamer, Robyn has spent many hours rolling dice, playing rock-paper-scissors, and slaying creatures in mmorpgs.

Website Newsletter

Facebook

Google+

Twitter

Goodreads

Shelfari Amazon

Blog

LibraryThing

Bewitching Book Tours is now offering custom book swag creations that can be added on to tour packages or ordered separately.

We are offering high quality, hand crafted, one of a kind items made to match your book. Currently we are offering beaded bookmarks, beaded keychains, purse charms, belt loop charms, wine glass charms, and earrings.

These items can be created with colored beads to match the colors in your book cover.

We can also add small charms to coordinate with book content- we have a wide variety of charms to choose from and if we don't have something that matches your book we can get it.

Some of the silver charms available are: vampire fangs, wolves, witch hats, keys and locks, books, hearts, haunted houses, bats, foxes, hamsas, dragons, sugar skulls, rhinestone skull and crossbones, high heeled shoes, Fleur de lis, masquerade masks, owls and many more.

You can also opt to have the items completely customized by adding your book cover to a metal charm. The book covers are encased in small metal photo frame charms and sealed in resin for a high quality charm that looks fabulous and is very durable.

Our goal is to create custom book swag that represents your book.

Prices start at just $5.00 per keychain, purse charm, bookmark or pair of earrings.

Contact Roxanne at RoxanneRhoads@bewitchingbooktours.com for custom price quotes

Excerpt: I knew this wasn't going to be the typical meeting with Julian Bright when, instead of the usual political organ-grinders at the campaign headquarters, I found a soccer mom duct taped to a chair, foaming at the mouth. Her grunting and growling echoed off the bare sheetrock walls of Julian's office, vacant except for the three of us.

I peeked through the blinds covering the locked storefront to make sure none of volunteers were back from the morning rounds. Satisfied we were alone, I turned to Julian.

He waved his arm at the woman in a lazy circle. "So, this is why I called."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Amy Mancuso. You know her?"

I shook my head.

"She's a volunteer. Her team was working Cold Spring by Loyola when she started swearing and spitting at the residents. By the time her team captain called me, she'd kicked someone's dog. Terrier, I think. Or one of those purse dogs."

I winced. "Remind me not to hand out yard signs for you. Jesus."

"It's not like we do background checks on volunteers. I figured she probably missed some meds or something."

"But you called me instead of the paramedics."

"Right."

"Why?" I asked as I took a step toward her.

Amy's grunting halted as she straightened in her chair. Her head swiveled slowly in my direction, and her eyes sent the creeping chills up my neck.

With a nerve-rattling tone she growled, "Is that Dorian Lake I smell?"

I'd never enjoyed the sound of my own name less.

Julian turned a shoulder to me and whispered, "That's why."

"Gotcha."

I slowly approached Amy, pulling my pendulum from my jacket pocket in a slow, non-threatening motion. Last thing I needed at that moment was to send a crazy person into a panic. I assumed she was crazy. My pendulum would determine whether she was unnaturally energized or the usual cat-shaving flavor of lunatic.

Her eyes were dilated; her mouth twisted into the most unsettling smile one could imagine on the face of an otherwise average woman.

"Have we met?"

"Poor little Dorian lost his soul."

Okay, this was probably a legitimate problem.

I dangled the pendulum in front of Amy. The little nugget of copper spun from the end of its chain in a perfectly Newtonian fashion. Nothing pulled it contrary to the laws of Nature. I couldn't even feel a tug on the chain.

She continued, "Lost his soul, he lost his soul. Dropped it down a rabbit hole."

"I suppose you think you're being clever?"

"Is he doomed or is he dead? Will he damn your soul instead?"

This conversation had lost all of its charm.

"Who am I talking to?"

She sucked in a huge gulp of air and craned her neck at a painful angle toward the ceiling. A sick squealing noise leaked from her lips as her arms trembled. When she finally released her breath and sank back down into her chair, she simply chuckled.

"We're going to find it, you know. And when we do, we're going to eat it."

I leaned in as close as I dared and whispered, "If you think I'm afraid of you, then you need to know something. I'm not impressed."

"It won't be long now."

"Did someone send you, or is this just a courtesy call?"

She smirked. "We're going to enjoy this."

I was knitting together a clever response when a loud rip of tape crackled through the room. Her hand slammed up underneath my jaw, fingers clamping around my throat. My head filled with blood, and I tried to cough through the gag reflex. The harder I beat on her hand to let go, the wider that creepy smile got.

The Curse Servant The Dark Choir Book 2 J.P. Sloan Genre: Urban Fantasy Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press Date of Publication: February 26, 2015 ISBN (eBook): 9781620078228 ISBN (Paperback): 9781620078235 ISBN (Hardcover): 9781620078242 ISBN (Smashwords): 9781620078259 ASIN: B00QEQN1XC Number of pages: 346 Word Count: 99,400 Cover Artist: Conzpiracy Digital Arts

Book Description: The one person standing between Hell… and an innocent girl… is a man without a soul.

A regular life isn’t in the cards for Dorian Lake, but with his charm-crafting business invigorated, and the prospect of a serious relationship within his grasp, life is closer to normal than Dorian could ever expect. In the heat of the Baltimore mayoral campaign, Dorian has managed to balance his arrangements with Deputy Mayor Julian Bright with his search to find his lost soul. Dorian soon learns of a Netherworker, the head of a dangerous West Coast cabal, who might be able to find and return his soul. The price? Just one curse.

Sounds easy… but nothing ever is for Dorian. A dark presence arrives in the city, hell-bent on finding Dorian’s soul first. Innocents are caught in the crossfire, and Dorian finds it harder to keep his commitments to Bright. When the fight gets personal, and the entity hits too close to home, Dorian must rely on those he trusts the least to save the ones he loves. As he tests the limits of his hermetic skills to de-

feat this new enemy, will Dorian lose his one chance to avoid damnation?

Available at Amazon About the Author: J.P. Sloan is a speculative fiction author ... primarily of urban fantasy, horror and several shades between. His writing explores the strangeness in that which is familiar, at times stretching the limits of the human experience, or only hinting at the monsters lurking under your bed.

A Louisiana native, Sloan relocated to the vineyards and cow pastures of Central Maryland after Hurricane Katrina, where he lives with his wife and son. During the day he commutes to the city of Baltimore, a setting which inspires much of his writing.

In his spare time, Sloan enjoys wine-making and homebrewing, and is a certified beer judge.

Web page: www.jp-sloan.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JPSloanAuthor Twitter: @J_P_Sloan Tumblr: http://jpsloan.tumblr.com/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6569197.J_P_Sloan

A Review of One Pot: 120+ Easy Meals from Your Skillet, Slow Cooker, Stockpot, and More by Editors of Martha Stewart Living Reviewed by Roxanne Rhoads This book is phenomenal!! As a busy working mom I need dinners to be simple- nothing is simpler than cooking an entire meal in one pot.

Especially since I received a set of Crock-Pots for Christmas.

And many of these recipes are actually food my entire family will eat. So many recipes books are filled with fancy and exotic dishes with ingredients my kids wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole.

This book has real, edible food for families.

Beef stew with noodles, roast beef, roast chicken, mac and cheese, lasagna, pulled pork, pork chops...hearty, real, edible food that my entire family will eat. It even has desserts!

Finally an honest cook book I can use. So many times I get a book that sounds fabulous only to read through the recipes and ingredients and realize I would be cooking for one because niether my husband nor my kids would even try half of the exotic ingredients.

This book now has a special place in my kitchen so I can grab it everytime I start planning weekly meals and grocery shopping.

I plan to try almost every recipe in this book (my kids don't eat fish, so those are out but the rest are pretty much fair game).

My favorites to try are all tabbed with little sticky notes to mark the page. And I've already made the beef stew with noodles...yum. Perfect winter meal.

Next up Three-Cheese Lasagna.

One Pot: 120+ Easy Meals from Your Skillet, Slow Cooker, Stockpot, and More

by Editors of Martha Stewart Living Using just one pan, you can stew, steam, sautÊ, simmer, braise, or roast your way to a fuss-free meal—and minimal cleanup to boot.

At the end of a busy day, you want to serve a delicious home-cooked dinner, a complete, all-in-one meal that can be prepared with little effort and few pans to wash. The editors of Martha Stewart Living present a brand-new collection of 120 recipes—organized by vessel—to help you do just that, all while adding savory new dishes to your weekly rotation.

One Pot is an exciting new way to approach everyday cooking: Imagine perfect pasta dishes for which everything goes in the pot at once (yes, that’s pasta, tomato, garlic, basil, and water all cooked together), dinner-party ready roasts with tender vegetables, and down-home casseroles, along with wholesome fish, chicken, and vegetarian dishes. You’ll get incredible flavor payoff from dishes such as comforting Chicken and Dumplings, easy Baked Risotto with Carrots and Squash, healthy Broiled Striped Bass with Tomatoes, hearty Pork Chops with Bacon and Cabbage, and the delectable Skillet Chocolate-Chip Cookie—each of which takes less than an hour from start to finish. Here, too, are a dozen outstanding recipes for surprising and simple desserts that can be ready when you are.

With chapters devoted to your essential cooking vessels—stockpot, skillet, slow cooker, and more— this book is sure to streamline your meals and to satisfy the people you share them with. Recipes include: DUTCH OVEN: Beef Stew with Noodles, Chicken and Dumplings, Baked Risotto, Texas Red Chili, Cajun Stew SLOW COOKER: Pulled Pork, Corned Beef and Cabbage, Classic Pot Roast, Lamb Shanks and Potatoes, Garlic Chicken with Barley SKILLET & SAUTÉ PAN: Spinach Pie, Poached Cod with Tomatoes, Three-Cheese Lasagna, Macaroni and Cheese, Stir-Fried Chicken with Bok Choy ROASTING PAN & BAKING DISH: Rib-Eye with Root Vegetables, Roast Chicken with Herb Butter, Salmon with Kale, Roast Beef with Acorn Squash, Tuscan Pork Roast PRESSURE COOKER: Short Ribs with Potato-Carrot Mash, Kale and White Bean Soup, Chicken Cacciatore; Easy Chickpea Curry, Beef Stroganoff STOCKPOT: Classic Chicken Soup, Split Pea Soup, Gemelli with Pesto and Potatoes, Corn and Shrimp Chowder, Pasta with Farm-Stand Vegetables DESSERTS: Peach Crumble, Skillet Chocolate-Chip Cookie, Baked Blackberry Custard, Raspberry Sorbet, Molten Chocolate Cupcakes Available at Amazon and Other Major Retailers

About the Author: Editors of Martha Stewart Living - One Pot For more than twenty years, the food editors and chefs in the kitchens of MARTHA STEWART LIVING have been producing bestselling cookbooks, including Meatless, Everyday Food: Light, Power Foods, and Martha Stewart’s Cooking School.

MARTHA STEWART is America’s most trusted lifestyle expert and teacher and the author of more than eighty books on cooking, entertaining, crafts, homekeeping, gardens, weddings, and decorating.

"I received this book from Blogging for Books for this review."

Excerpt: …“Dr. Quan,” someone screamed at her over the howl of the wind. She spun, almost lost her footing, and snapped up another cable.

“Coming.” She ducked through a door onto deck four, bent double, and shook her head briskly. Water flew everywhere. She straightened, shoved her hood aside, and more water ran down her back.

The ship’s staff captain, second in command on the vessel and staunchly British, clucked in annoyance as he tugged the heavy, reinforced steel door closed, latching it securely. Muscles bulged in his arms and shoulders as he wrestled with the uncooperative door. “Thank bloody fucking God I found you,” Harold Markham blurted and grabbed her arm. Panic streamed from him in waves that battered her paranormal side.

Kayna’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t know Harold well, but he’d seemed imperturbable until now. “What happened?”

“Tell you on the way.” A corner of his mouth twisted downward. “Be grateful. This saves you from a harsh lecture about going outside in rough seas, without telling anyone.” He yanked on her trying to jockey her down the corridor.

“Stop that!” She raised her voice for emphasis. “If there’s a medical emergency, I have to know what it is because I’ve got to stop by the surgery to get my bag and anything else I might need.”

“Oh.” An uncomfortable look washed over Harold’s face. Worry etched lines into the skin around his blue eyes, and he raked a hand through unevenly cut blond hair. He lowered his voice and spoke near Kayna’s ear. “It’s one of the Russian seamen. He caught his arm in machinery. It’s bad.”

“Amputation bad?”

It was a stupid question since he wouldn’t know. Kayna made a dismissive gesture with one hand and said, “Don’t bother trying to answer.” She sprinted past him, stopping in the corridor outside the suite that contained both her surgery and living quarters. “Maybe you should have someone carry him here,” she told Harold. “At least I have an exam table we can strap him to.”

He shook his head. “You need to have a look before we even think about moving him. He’s on the raised walkway in the engine room, and there’s more blood than I’ve ever seen.”

Kayna keyed an electronic code and let herself in. She shucked her soaked jacket, threw additional items into her medical bag, and raced to where Harold waited in the corridor, bristling with tension. “How do I get to the engine room?” she asked and jerked the door shut. “I walked through it at the beginning of the trip, but I don’t remember—” “There’s an access door at the end of Deck Three. I’ll be right behind you,” he cut in, his normally cavalier voice edged with anxiety.

She fought the rocking ship, moving as fast as she could, and hustled down one flight of stairs. Once there, she ran toward the door that led into the bowels of the ship where the engine took up two decks. Harold followed hard on her heels. Her heavy bag, coupled with the ship’s unpredictable motion, almost landed her on her ass—twice. When she glanced back at Harold, his face was set in grim lines. He’d given up any pretense of unnecessary conversation, but he held out a hand for her bag and opened the door just wide enough for her to squeeze through.

Adrenaline hummed along her nerves as she navigated steep, oily steps into the heart of the ship, grateful she could hang on with both hands. Her clumsy bag would’ve made the stairway treacherous. Engine noise hit her in the pit of her stomach, and she wished she had ear plugs.

Footsteps pounded toward her, and one of the Russian engineers came into view. He motioned frantically and added a volley of Russian. Close-cropped black hair hugged his skull, and his dark eyes held a haggard edge. Blood spattered his dirty white T-shirt, leaving a hell of a mess.

“Lead the way.” Kayna didn’t know if he understood, but it didn’t matter because he spun and raced back in the direction he’d come from. Two more twists of the corridor and she heard screams even over the noise of the ship’s enormous twin engines. Another moment and she saw a tall, bald man writhing in a pool of his own blood. A close-to-severed arm lay next to him. Kayna dropped to the metal decking and made a dive for the brachial artery running beneath the man’s arm, afraid if she hesitated long enough to glove up, she’d lose him. Straddling his body, she put pressure on the artery while the seaman lashed his body from side to side like a bucking bronco.

“Get me a clean towel or shirt,” she yelled, wondering if anyone spoke enough English to understand, but it didn’t matter because Harold shouted in guttural Russian, dropped her bag by her side, and sped into a side room.

She eyed the mangled arm, and cursed softly. It looked as if a giant had twisted the seaman’s lower arm until the severed section hung from a slender flap of skin. Both the ulna and radius were broken, their white, jagged ends protruding through a sea of tattered flesh. Without a sophisticated operating theater, there’d be no way to save the sheared off limb. Blood poured from the injured extremity, jetting from injured arteries and flowing from torn veins, but at least the rate had slowed. She ran her free hand down the man’s neck, other arm, chest, and abdomen, searching for further damage with a magical assist from her psi ability.

“Dr. Quan.” fumes.

When she glanced up, Harold hunkered next to her and handed her two bath towels reeking of bleach

“Thanks.” She nodded sharply. She’d been so focused on assessing if the seaman had other significant injuries, she’d missed the staff captain returning with towels. She folded one, tucked it into the wounded seaman’s armpit, and pressed as hard as she could while the sailor shrieked and thrashed, clearly in agony. “Put your hand where mine is,” she told Harold. He complied immediately, and she twisted to reach into her medical bag for a syringe and a vial of morphine. She thought about gloves again, but she was already coated in the man’s blood.

She guesstimated the seaman’s weight, did some quick calculations, and hoped to hell she’d gotten them right as she drew enough morphine into the syringe to dull pain, but not totally knock him out. He thrashed wildly beneath her, his blue eyes so crazed with agony they were nearly all pupil. “Hold him down so I can give him this,” she said.

Harold started to move his hands. “Not you,” she cried. “Keep pressure on that artery so he doesn’t bleed out.” Harold barked a command, and four burly seamen stabilized their wounded companion. Kayna plunged the syringe into the meaty part of his other arm. Her jaw clenched as she waited for the morphine to spin its magic. She dropped the empty syringe back into her bag and pushed Harold’s hands aside, replacing them with her own.

“His arm?” the staff captain asked in a rough voice.

Kayna looked up long enough to meet his gaze. “His arm is probably toast. Right now I’m fighting to keep enough blood in him so he doesn’t die. The morphine will kick in soon. At least it will give him some relief. Once he settles down, I’ll give him a whopping injection of antibiotics and a tetanus shot.”

“What can I do?” Harold asked.

“Where exactly are we?” she countered.

“Not far from the Falklands.”

“Better news than I’d hoped for. Have someone radio for a medevac helicopter. This man needs a hospital. Actually, he needs a level one trauma center for that arm, but that’s probably not going to happen.”

Harold bolted from the engine room, and Kayna eyed the group of Russian seamen ringed around her.

She gestured to one to keep pressure on the towel and dug in her bag for a stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, and a tourniquet. She filled another syringe with a mix of antibiotics and readied it. The man’s body relaxed as the morphine kicked in. Soon she could inject her antibiotic soup without anyone holding him down. As grim and desperate as the situation was, Death was a worthy adversary.

“Bring it on,” she muttered as she checked vital signs and noted them. “I’m going to win this round.”

Almost as if Death had a corporeal presence and had risen to her challenge, a chilly breeze passed through the overheated engine room. She’d sensed Death before when she was pulling out all the stops to save a life, had even mentioned it to some of the other docs when she was an intern, but they gave her such odd looks, she’d never made the mistake of disclosing her paranormal abilities again. When it got right down to it, almost everyone was just as psi-phobic as her erstwhile almost-fiancé.

“Easy,” she murmured and injected antibiotics. The man’s eyelids flickered, and for the barest moment he focused on her. “That’s right.” She patted his uninjured hand and hoped her tone would bridge their language barrier. “Help will be here soon. You’re going to make it.”…

Icy Passage An Antarctica Story Ann Gimpel Hartwood Publishing Group 96K words Release Date: 2/5/15 Genre: Science Fiction/Romance with a Splash of Paranormal Lethal cultures, bizarre illness, and political intrigue create an unlikely backdrop for love in Antarctica, the last true frontier.

Book Description: Fresh out of residency, Dr. Kayna Quan opts for a tour in Antarctica.

Money is short, so she hires on as medical officer aboard a Russian research vessel headed for McMurdo Station. Primed for almost anything,

she plays her paranormal ability close to the vest. Being odd man out in a world where most don’t believe in magic makes her wary and feisty.

Brynn McMichaels has been stationed on remote South Georgia Island for two years, and he’s eager for a change. When cultures of the single-celled organism, archaea, overgrow their bins in his lab and begin shifting into another form, he worries he’s losing his mind and talks with scientists at McMurdo, but they have problems of their own—bad ones. After he hears about them, Brynn agrees to help. The weather’s too uncertain to send a plane, so he hitches a ride aboard Kayna’s ship and brings his mutant culture colonies along.

Attraction sparks, hot and powerful, between Brynn and Kayna, but her disclosure about her magic is a tough nut to crack. It doesn’t help that her dead father is stalking her. Lethal cultures, bizarre illness, and McMurdo’s refusal to let them land force Brynn and Kayna into an uneasy alliance. Will their fragile bond be enough to thwart the powers trying to destroy Earth, and them along with it?

About the Author: Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. She’s also a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. She’s published over 20 books to date, with several more contracted for 2015 and beyond.

A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family. www.anngimpel.com http://anngimpel.blogspot.com http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel

http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author

@AnnGimpel

Exclusive Excerpt Vehicle City Vampires Book 2

Who the hell was knocking on my door this early? I grabbed a robe and stumbled to the door. I had not even had coffee yet, someone better have one hell of a reason to be waking me up this early.

I opened the door to find my cousin and her demon boyfriend standing there. “Elita, what are you and Connor doing here?”

“Sorry to bust in so early, but I brought up The Darkness to Connor and he said we needed to come right over, because the story he has to tell is long and he doesn’t want to have to repeat it twice.”

I was shocked, and suddenly filled with hope. “You know about The Darkness?” I asked him.

“Make some coffee and we’ll all sit down and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Annie, what’s going on? Who is here?” Mike stumbled out of the bedroom in just his jeans looking endearingly tousled. His muscled torso and chest were on display, his wavy hair was sticking up everywhere.

“Mike you remember my cousin Elita and her boyfriend Connor?”

His eyes widened a bit. He knew Connor was a demon…and Mike, being a Hunter, was not fond of demons. But he kept his mouth shut and sat down while I put on a pot of coffee.

Once it was brewed we all sat down, ready to listen to Connor’s tale.

“It is said The Darkness was born with the original Gods and Goddesses, brought forth from the elements into this world.”

“The original Gods and Goddesses?” I asked.

“The ones you always hear of- Allah, Yahweh, The Greek and Roman Gods so many stories are told of, The Egyptian Gods and Goddesses, and Christ who is so popular today. The Darkness is one of them. They were all born to the creators. The creators are the first of absentee parents for no one knows who or what the creators were or why they were never around much. After the originals were born they were spread around the world to be caretakers. But they had no one to rule. It was just land….and animals. The creators brought forth a new race of people from the animals, they were colorful and beautiful and had many talents tied to nature.”

“The Fae?” interrupted Elita.

“Yes, the Fae,” He continued. “The Originals mated with the Fae and new beings were born… demigods. Today these descendants are the court fairy. Other beings were born later that adapted to the land, evolved, became new species- witches, brownies, trolls, little people, etc. Humans eventually developed. They were weak without magick. The originals took advantage of this and decided they wanted to rule over them.

Stories say it started with The Darkness, he was the instigator, the agitator. He wanted to create havoc and chaos. He encouraged Christ to push his brothers and sisters to the side so he could be ‘the one true god’.

Christ created Angels, and they were his warriors who pushed back the forces of ‘evil’- who were the other gods and goddesses. Later Christ molded modern man into what he hoped would be his puppets to worship him, too bad free will can be a tricky thing and sometimes turned on him, thanks to The Darkness whispering sweet nothings into the ears of man. But that wasn’t enough for The Darkness, he was there when Lucifer jumped ship, he was there when Eve took the apple.”

“So you’re saying The Darkness is the origin of evil?” Mike asked.

“Of evil, of sin, he is the seed of true despair,” Connor sighed. “Most of the originals backed down when Christ took over. They slumber, forgotten by humanity for so long. But after two thousand years there is

rumbling. The originals are awakening…humans are remembering them, worshipping them, calling them out of hiding. Christ’s children are calling him a failure and a fraud. War is brewing…and The Darkness revels in it.”

“How do you know all of this Connor?” I asked.

“Demons are one of the races born to the Originals and the Fae. We are the caretakers of knowledge.

Think of us as librarians, genealogists. We are hoarders of history. We have preserved history from the beginning, from words on stone tablets, to cave paintings, to papyrus, to today’s modern digital recordings. Our vaults contain the history of the world.” He seemed so serious, which wasn’t Connor’s style, so he smiled and attempted to lighten things up a bit, “Plus demons are terrible gossips and eavesdroppers. We listen to everything and whisper it to each other.”

“So that’s the real reason people summon demons, because you guys squirrel away the secrets of the world?” Elita asked.

“Knowledge is power, it is currency. It is the one thing everyone seeks but not everyone has. We have it, all of it, at our fingertips. Of course not every demon has the keys to the vault. Some of us record only.”

I stood up and paced around the room, “Okay, you’ve told us a great story but what the hell does any of this have to do with mine and Elita’s parents? Or the prophecy? If The Darkness is an original God how would we ever be able to stop it?”

Connor shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know, Anwyn. All I can give you is the history of The Darkness and rumors. I don’t know how your family or the prophecy plays into it all. I can do some digging into the vaults and see if I can discover anything useful. My clearance levels will not get me into the oldest archives but I will do my best to find answers.”

“Thank you, Connor.” I gave him a hug. Elita stood up and I hugged her as well. “We’re getting closer, Cuz. We will find out what happened to your parents.”

She smiled sadly. The truth was a long time coming and while we were closer, we were still so far away from anything that made sense.

Life Imitating Art Imitating Life

The Original Photo Next To the Cover Design

Sometimes fun coincidences happen, like how it worked out that the model representing Mike Malone on the cover of Hex and the City has something unique in common with Mike.

They are both police officers.

It’s true. In the real world cover model Scott is with the Genesee County Sheriff's Department (Flint is in Genesee County) while character Mike Malone is with the Flint Police Department as Sergeant Detective and head of the PIT Crew.

Readers love Greenwode Winner in the 2013 Rainbow Awards: First: Best LGBT Novel, Best B/T & LGBT Debut, Best B/T & LGBT Fantasy, Paranormal Romance & Sci-fi / Futuristic

“I loved this story for taking a legend and giving it a twist … I have to recommend this to those who love folklore, mystical legends, historicals, fighting for a love against insurmountable odds, danger, betrayal and an ending that is devastating while giving you faint hope.”

—MM Good Book Reviews “This is a gutsy twist on a major classic that works.”

—Gerry Bernie “There is so much good about this book I'm not even sure where to start. … This one is a highly recommended read. Just read it. It blew me away.”

—Better Read Than Dead “Greenwode is legend. It is epic storytelling. It is fantasy and history. It is religion and spirituality. It is a world in which faith is a weapon, faith is a tool, faith is the enemy, and faith is the last vestige of hope… when there seems nothing left to hope for. If you love epic fantasy, I can’t recommend this book highly enough.”

—The Novel Approach “I can assure you the weaving of themes and legends in GREENWODE is mesmerizing. … This novel will always be the one against which I will judge all the others.”

—Christopher Hawthorne Moss “…an interesting, spellbinding read.”

—Rainbow Book Reviews “I highly recommend this any fan of an epic fantasy with historical settings. It is long but worth it. I can’t wait for the second book to come out.”

—Hearts on Fire Reviews

 Prelude 

In the Deeps of the Shire Wode 1175 ACE

“Wind and water, stone and tree….”

Firelight flickered against rock, as if in time to the low melody. Both light and song wavered as they traveled into the depths. Not that the voice was not strong or the fire not warm—the caverns were that deep.

An old man, lean and crystal-eyed, stared into the fire. Every now and then the fire would jerk and start, as if some giant had spat upon it, but the cause was natural enough. Thunder rumbled in the forest above, sending puffs of wind through unknown entrances into the caverns. The old man could hear the stones embedded in the earth above him creak, almost in reply; he tuned his low voice as if in reverent time. Those rocks that formed the circle above him might be a tiny imitation of the ring stones on the plain of Salisbury far to the south, but no less eternal in their observance of the powers that he, too, had served for….

How long had it been? Stubble had scarce grown on his now leathern cheeks when he’d first taken up the mantle of the god. He had put aside his real name when, on a midsummer night not long after King Stephen had taken up another, more politic authority, a peasant gathering had crowned a young man with antlers and cried the god’s name: Cernunnos. Horned One. Green-Father. Hunter.

Cernun.

Stephen had relinquished his crown to his nephew Henry even as Cernun had groomed his own successor, moving from Hunter to Hermit’s guise. It was the way of things. Shaking a twisted lock of silver from his eyes, Cernun grumbled to himself again, stirring at the fire with a long stick. He was old, but not infirm. The Sight was still strong in him, his body still hale and sound of limb; the forces of nature had rewarded him well for his service. Most men who had seen over fifty winters were bent and aged, senile from hard, miserable lives. The blood of the Barrow-lines ran strong. And he had been lucky.

He could only wish his successor such fortune.

The fire sparked. Cernun leaned closer, scrutinizing the writhing embers, watched them swell then flare white, reaching for the low limestone overhead. Y es? he asked, silent beneath the swell of power. Y ou speak, Lord?

Images assaulted him. He saw what had been: the midsummer madness of dancing and singing, the rejoicing in rites, which, for a short, sweet time, took his people from the harsh reality of toil and hunger. Saw Horned Lord take Lady, clothed in Hunter and Maiden, horns and moon-crown.

Saw children born, Beltain-gotten, and the sweet green Wode prosper. As above, so below.

The fire damped, the vision strayed. Cernun spoke a low, guttural word, grabbed a handful of herbs from the cauldron at his side, and threw them onto the fire. The past was a given—to what future led this vision?

Scented smoke rose. It blossomed, damp cavern mists and heat writhing, tearing into wisps then coalescing.

A scream. The Mother’s face reflecting flames and terror, the woods aflame, and the Horned One on the Hunt. Downed in snow, horns broken, wolves with blooded jaws snapping and snarling….

“No!” Cernun hissed. He caught his breath as more shapes danced in the smoke, dissolving then coalescing….

A cowled figure draws a freakishly long bow, the arrow’s flight swift and sure, to split another arrow already in the black… a sister of the White Christ bends over a kneeling soldier… clad in the red and white of the Temple, he raises his fair head to let her make the sign of the Horns upon his brow… a booted foot stomps the long bow, shattering it….

Cernun blinked, shook his head. It made no sense, none of it. Smoke hissed, twisted into a pair of cowled figures locked in struggle….

One slams the other up against a tree, yanks his head back, and brings a drawn sword against the exposed artery, only to have the sword fall from his hands, to stagger back as if he has seen some demon… or ghost….

Another twist of smoke, and abruptly the flames flared high, gusting char against the old man’s face. He didn’t move, in fact bent forward.

A figure, crouching naked in the fire, a silhouette amidst burning ruins. The fire rises again, a spiral of sound and wind, and the figure rises with it, backlit, stepping barefoot over the coals and extending pale arms as if clothing itself in fire.

And, suddenly, it is. Flames whip, clad and cowl the figure in brilliant scarlet that ebbs to black… then grayash rags. Winter blows through, snow hissing in the coals and covering the figure. It walks back and forth, and in its footsteps ice crystals form. Green, sharp-edged leaves unfurl amidst the winter ice, revealing blood-red berries in their depths. The figure turns to him, eyes glowing within its cowl, still pacing, like to a wild animal caged.

Wolf, it says, but does not speak. Witch. Hawk.

Wind gusted through the cavern in a bank of noise and cold. The fire pitched down from copper into indigo, sparks flying, smoke rising.

Cernun did not bother to stir it. Instead he closed his eyes, tried to make sense of what he had seen.

Wolf. The most skilled of hunters, yet hunted throughout the land by another, even more treacherous predator. Or… outlaws were known as wolfshead. Perhaps? But not likely. Cernun would tolerate no outlaw within his covenant.

Witch. What the White Christ’s followers called those who followed the old ways of the heath and Barrowlines, a calling turned to hatred by outside forces, even as the Romans had done with another naming: Pagani.

Hawk. Proud birds, another hunter/predator forced to perform beneath nobleman’s rule, barely tamed and kept from free flight, jessed, hooded.

“Hooded.” It came out in a soft rush of breath. Not only the hawk but wolf and witch—predators cornered— the struggling figures, the flame-gotten one… all cowled. By fire, by ash, by blood. “Great Lord who lies incarnate in us. Has it come to this?”

He stared at the dying embers, not wanting to believe. But the image persisted.

The one to walk all worlds, to breathe the fates of dark and light and dusk between, male and female; the Arrow of the goddess and the Horns of the god. The champion of the old ways—and the beginning of their ending.

The Hooded One.

Greenwode Book One of The Wode J Tullos Hennig Genre: Historical Fantasy, Robin Hood Publisher: DSP Publications Date of Publication: Oct. 28, 2014 ISBN: 978-1-63216-437-7 Paperback

ISBN: 978-1-63216-438-4 eBook ASIN: B00NPD85GU Number of pages: 350 Word Count: 151,000 Cover Artist: Shobana Appavu Book Description: The Hooded One. The one to breathe the dark and light and dusk between....

When an old druid foresees this harbinger of chaos, he also glimpses its future. A peasant from Loxley will wear the Hood and, with his sister, command a last, desperate bastion of Old Religion against New. Yet a devout nobleman's son could well be their destruction—Gamelyn Boundys, whom Rob and Marion have befriended. Such acquaintance challenges both duty and destiny. The old druid warns that Rob and Gamelyn will be cast as sworn enemies, locked in timeless and symbolic struggle for the greenwode's Maiden.

Instead, a defiant Rob dares his Horned God to reinterpret the ancient rites, allow Rob to take Gamelyn as lover instead of rival. But in the eyes of Gamelyn’s Church, sodomy is unthinkable... and the old pagan magics are an evil that must be vanquished.

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/yA7dGnKlASs Available at Amazon

BN Kobo

iTunes Audible OmniLit

About the Author: J Tullos Hennig has maintained a few professions over a lifetime--artist, dancer, equestrian--but never successfully managed to not be a writer. Ever. Since living on an island in Washington State merely encourages-nay, guarantees--already rampant hermetic and artistic tendencies, particularly in winter, Jen has become reconciled to never escaping this lifelong affliction. Comparisons have also been made to a bridge troll, one hopefully emulating the one under Fremont Bridge: moderately tolerant, but. You know. Bridge troll.

Jen is blessed with an understanding spouse, kids, and grandkids, as well as alternately plagued and blessed with a small herd of horses and a teenaged borzoi who alternates leaping over the furniture with lounging on it.

And, for the entirety of a lifetime, Jen has been possessed by a press gang of invisible ‘friends’ who Will.

Not. S.T.F.U. www.jtulloshennig.net https://www.facebook.com/jtullos.hennig https://www.facebook.com/TheWodeBooks

A Review of Horror 101: The Way Forward Reviewed by Roxanne Rhoads If you write horror or have considered writing horror, this book is a must have.

This isn't a just a "write like this and sell your story" advice book but a book full of knowledge and experience from seasoned pros. It's full of behind the scenes info only an experienced horror author would know.

Tips, tricks and new points of view will help you explore ways of writing horror, while essays and anecdotes about rejection and perserverance will let you know that even the best in the business have dealt with their share of rejection and frustration.

It also dives into the business of being an author- agents, editing, formatting, proofreading, self-publishing, joining a horror writers association, networking, conventions and more.

Literally everything you need to get started or to advance as a horror writer.

And the basic information can be used for any genre.

Excellent, I can't recommend this book enough.

Horror is something I've been wanting to dip my toes into for awhile. I write on the fluffier side with paranormal romance and urban fantasy along with paranormal erotica. I've had a few stories cross over the the horrotica category...but straight up horror...it's been on my writing to-do list. And this book just gave me the nudge I needed to get started.

Horror 101: The Way Forward Print Length: 472 pages Publisher: Crystal Lake Publishing April 27, 2014 ASIN: B00JZJQUYW Horror 101: The Way Forward – a comprehensive overview of the Horror fiction genre and career opportunities available to established and aspiring authors.

Have you ever wanted to be a horror writer? Perhaps you have already realized that dream and you’re looking to expand your repertoire. Writing comic books sounds nice, right? Or how about screenplays?

That’s what Horror 101: The Way Forward is all about. It’s not your average On Writing guide that covers active vs. passive and other writing tips, Horror 101 focuses on the career of a horror writer. It covers not only insights into the horror genre, but the people who successfully make a living from it.

Covering aspects such as movies, comics, short stories, ghost-writing, audiobooks, editing, publishing, selfpublishing, blogging, writer’s block, YA horror, reviewing, dark poetry, networking, collaborations, eBooks, podcasts, conventions, series, formatting, web serials, artwork, social media, agents, and career advice from seasoned professionals and up-and-coming talents, Horror 101 is just what you need to kick your career into high gear.

Horror 101: The Way Forward is not your average On Writing guide, as it is more focused on the career options available to authors. But don’t fret, this book is loaded with career tips and behind-the-scene stories on how your favourite authors broke into their respective fields.

Horror 101: The Way Forward is perfect for people who: • are suffering from writer’s block • are starting their writing careers • are looking to expand their writing repertoire • are planning on infiltrating a different field in horror writing • are looking to pay more bills with their art • are trying to further their careers • are trying to establish a name brand • are looking to get published • are planning on self-publishing • want to learn more about the pros in the horror genre • are looking for motivation and/or inspiration • love the horror genre • are not sure where to take their writing careers Includes articles by Jack Ketchum, Graham Masterton, Edward Lee, Lucy A. Snyder, Emma Audsley, RJ Cavender, Scott Nicholson, Weston Ochse, Taylor Grant, Paul Kane, Lisa Morton, Shane McKenzie, Dean M. Drinkel, Simon Marshall-Jones, Robert W. Walker, Don D’Auria and Glenn Rolfe, Harry Shannon, Chet Williamson, Lawrence Santoro, Thomas Smith, Blaze McRob, Rocky Wood, Ellen Datlow, Iain Rob Wright, Kenneth W. Cain, Daniel I. Russell, Michael McCarty, Richard Thomas, Joan De La Haye, Michael Wilson, Francois Bloemhof, C.E.L. Welsh, Jasper Bark, Niall Parkinson, Armand Rosamilia, Tonia Brown, Ramsey Campbell, Tim Waggoner, Gary McMahon, V.H. Leslie, Eric S Brown, William Meikle, John Kenny, Gary Fry, Diane Parkin, Jim Mcleod, Siobhan McKinney, Rick Carufel, Ben Eads, Theresa Derwin, Rena Mason, Steve Rasnic Tem, Michael A. Arnzen, Joe Mynhardt, John Palisano, Mark West, Steven Savile, and a writer so famous he’s required to stay anonymous.

The TOC includes: Foreword by Mort Castle Making Contact by Jack Ketchum What is Horror by Graham Masterton Bitten by the Horror Bug by Edward Lee Reader Beware by Siobhan McKinney Balancing Art and Commerce by Taylor Grant Writing About Films and for Film by Paul Kane Screamplays! Writing the Horror Film by Lisa Morton From Prose to Scripts by Shane McKenzie Screenplay Writing: The First Cut is the Deepest by Dean M. Drinkel

Publishing by Simon Marshall-Jones Weighing Up Traditional Publishing & EBook Publishing by Robert W. Walker Glenn Rolfe Toes the Line with Samhain Horror Head Honcho, Don D’Auria by Glenn Rolfe Bringing the Zombie to Life by Harry Shannon Audiobooks: Your Words to Their Ears by Chet Williamson Writing Aloud by Lawrence Santoro Ghostwriting: You Can’t Write It If You Can’t Hear It by Thomas Smith Ghostwriting by Blaze McRob The Horror Writers Association - the Genre's Essential Ingredient by Rocky Wood What a Short Story Editor Does by Ellen Datlow Self-Publishing: Making Your Own Dreams by Iain Rob Wright Self-Publishing: Thumb on the Button by Kenneth W. Cain What’s the Matter with Splatter? by Daniel I. Russell Partners in the Fantastic: The Pros and Cons of Collaborations by Michael McCarty The Journey of “Rudy Jenkins Buries His Fears” by Richard Thomas Writing Short Fiction by Joan De La Haye A beginner’s guide to setting up and running a website by Michael Wilson Poetry And Horror by Blaze McRob Horror for Kids: not Child’s Play by Francois Bloemhof So you want to write comic books… by C.E.L. Welsh Horror Comics – How to Write Gory Scripts for Gruesome Artists by Jasper Bark Some thoughts on my meandering within the world of dark and horror art by Niall Parkinson Writing The Series by Armand Rosamilia Running a Webserial by Tonia Brown Reviewing by Jim Mcleod Avoiding What’s Been Done to Death by Ramsey Campbell The 7 Signs that make Agents and Editors say, "Yes!" by Anonymous The (extremely) Short Guide to Writing Horror by Tim Waggoner Growing Ideas by Gary McMahon Filthy Habits – Writing and Routine by Jasper Bark A Room of One’s Own – The Lonely Path of a Writer by V.H. Leslie Do You Need an Agent? by Eric S Brown Ten Short Story Endings to Avoid by William Meikle Submitting Your Work Part 2: Read the F*****g Guidelines! by John Kenny Rejection Letters – How to Write and Respond to Them by Jasper Bark Editing and Proofreading by Diane Parkin On Formatting: A Concise Guide to the Most Frequently Encountered issues by Rick Carufel How to Dismember Your Darlings – Editing Your Own Work by Jasper Bark From Reader to Writer: Finding Inspiration by Emma Audsley Writing Exercises by Ben Eads The Year After Publication... by Rena Mason Writing Horror: 12 Tips on Making a Career of It by Steve Rasnic Tem The Five Laws of Arnzen by Michael A. Arnzen The Cheesy Trunk of Terror by Scott Nicholson How to be Your Own Agent, Whether You Have One or Not by Joe Mynhardt Networking at Conventions by Lucy A. Snyder Pitch to Impress: How to Stand Out from the Convention Crowd by RJ Cavender You Better (Net)Work by Tim Waggoner Vaginas in Horror by Theresa Derwin Friendship, Writing, and the Internet by Weston Ochse Buttoning Up Before Dinner by Gary Fry How to fail as an artist in ten easy steps by John Palisano Writer’s Block by Mark West Be the Writer You Want to Be by Steven Savile The special paperback edition also includes:

* Going Underground by Adam Nevill * What are You Reading by Kevin Lucia * I Want to be A Small Press Publisher Too by Charles Day The articles by Jack Ketchum, Harry Shannon and Glenn Rolfe are only available in the eBook edition, but you can receive a free copy of the eBook with a paperback purchase.

Cover art by Ben Baldwin Edited by Joe Mynhardt and Emma Audsley eBook formatting by Robert Swartwood

The Bearly Controlled Alpha Jenika Snow Release Date: February 1, 2015 Genre: Erotic Paranormal Romance, M/F, Shifter Publisher: ARe Book Description: Logan is part bear, part wolf, all alpha SEAL. Honey is a headstrong shifter herself. When they get together, it’s one explosive claiming…

Logan Teairry is a rare hybrid alpha feared amongst the shifting community. He has come back to the small town of Sugar Crest to settle down after his military tour with the SEALs has ended. What he doesn't expect to see is his mate in the form of one headstrong badger shifter named Honey.

Honey Bellamy has always been in control of her life and her relationships. But when she sees Logan walk into her realty office, she sees that the man fate has chosen for her is a giant hybrid alpha who likes to be in charge. When Honey realizes how arousing submission can be, it’s Logan who can barely maintain control.

Alpha, Delta RJ Scott Release Date: February 2, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/M, Contemp, Action/ Adventure, RomSuspense Publisher: ARe Book Description: Officer Finn Hallan has never run from a fight. With Niall’s life and love at stake, he’s not about to start now…

Finn Hallan is a member of the elite Norwegian Emergency Response Unit, code name Delta. When the team is sent to respond to a hostage situation on an oil platform in the Norwegian Sea, he has to face demons he thought he had buried a long time ago.

Scottish engineer Niall Faulkner’s skills in oil platform decommissioning takes him to the Forseti platform at the worst possible time. When he’s captured by terrorists, his only thought is that he will never get to tell his lover how he really feels.

Can Finn keep Niall alive? Or will they both die at the hands of hijackers in the frigid waters of the Norwegian Sea?

It Was Always You Alijah Burke Release Date: February 3, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/F, IR, Contemp Publisher: ARe Book Description: When it’s right, it’s right…

Zane Kendrick returns home after being in the Army for twenty-two years empty and unsure what his future holds for him. Then he runs into Zoe Duncan working in her father’s shop. When Zane sees Zoe again he realizes she’s no longer the little girl who followed her brothers and his around.

This Zoe is all woman.

Zoe Duncan has loved Zane forever. For years he’s been the object of all her fantasies. So when the opportunity arrives for her to be with him for real, she can’t refuse. But the one-night stand doesn’t change anything. When all is said and done, Zane is still off limits, and Zoe’s not about to risk the relationship between their families just to satisfy her own desires.

Fortunately for her, Zane isn’t the kind of man to easily let go of what he wants, and what he wants is Zoe. When trouble arrives at her door he’s there, promising to be the kind of steadfast hero Zoe can count on. Will that be enough to convince Zoe to let him in and give their relationship a shot?

Two Howls Sean Michael Release Date: February 4, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/M, Shifter Publisher: ARe

Book Description: Max is on the run, but is he running from his past, or toward his future? Only Ulf knows…

Werewolf Max knows desiring males is wrong, but he can't help himself. When his pack nearly kills him in an attempt to cleanse him, Max runs. Jumping on his motorcycle, he heads north.

Ulf has lived on his own in the wilds of Northern Ontario for a long time. When he catches the scent of a stranger in his territory, he’s angry at first, until he realizes that Max is more than just another werewolf. They’re mates.

Ulf must make Max believe that two males can be mates, but just as he’s about to succeed, Max's past catches up with him. Will the home they've been hoping to build together be lost for good?

A Civilized Mating Marie Harte Release Date: February 5, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/F/M, SciFi, Menage, BDSM

Publisher: ARe Book Description: If one barbarian is lethal, two are even more dangerous...in bed.

Earther Skye Jones arrives to rescue her friend from a barbarian kidnapping knowing she’ll be throwing away her chances of a dream job on planet Ussed. With her skills, she doesn’t anticipate being captured by a group of sexy soldiers. Or that she’ll fall for their charismatic squad leader. Then, as if that’s not bad enough, Skye is brought to their encampment to meet their clan leader—a hulking warrior who sets her blood afire.

When the mating instinct takes over, Skye finds herself with not one, but two bed partners.

But is her life meant to be lived among the uncivilized? Before Skye can decide who and what she wants, the choice is taken out of her hands by an enemy clan. And if she’s not careful, she’ll lose a lot more than a stubborn heart.

Jumping In Cardeno C Release Date: February 6, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/M, Contemp Publisher: ARe Book Description: When love's on the line, the brave jump in with both feet...

Small town cop Clint Rivera can’t catch a break.

His ex of two weeks is suddenly getting married, his dogs tore up his furniture, he’s getting evicted, and he’s out of beer. When he decides to solve his alcohol shortage by going to his ex’s engagement party, Clint winds up too drunk to drive himself home.

Enter gorgeous deputy-mayor Hawk Black, the man who constantly shows up unexpectedly and sends Clint’s body and mind into a tailspin with nothing but his whiskey voice and blue eyes. After months of patience, Hawk can finally seduce the man he’s been craving.

Clint’s day might not have started out well, but Hawk’s going to make sure it ends with a bang, preferably in bed. He’ll show Clint some rewards are worth the risk. With love on the line, Clint will need to decide if he can open his heart, tear down his shields, and jump in with both

feet.

Under His Claw Viola Grace Release Date: February 7, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/F, Vampire/Shifter

Publisher: ARe Book Description: Traded for a blood debt, in service to a vampire, and loaned to a shifter, Zora never thought to find pleasure…

Zora has always felt the stigma of being born to a family tainted by vampire blood. That family legacy becomes vividly real when her great-great grandfather tracks her down and trades her for a blood debt owed to the local vampire king. Zora finds a way to use her particular skill set in the vampire court and her first week goes well, until the vampire king decides she needs the comfort of a warm shifter next to her at night.

Dragon shifter Rigeck has come to see the woman his friend wants him to heat up. The shy miss surrounded by salivating potential suitors is just what he’s been looking for. Her blood will confirm if his instincts are correct. But first, he’ll taste the rest of her, for his own entertainment.

Will their one night together be enough to keep him from taking her to his lair, or will instinct win the day?

Seducing Rain Amber Kell Release Date: February 8, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/M , BDSM, Suspense Publisher: ARe Book Description: Two stubborn men try to find love, balance and the path to escape a killer's hold...

Rainier Lemmon had taken one picture too many. After accidentally capturing a shooting on film, he finds himself in danger and needing a place to hide out.

Greg Carter has wanted Rain back ever since their one and only weekend together.

But when Rain returns, it’s meant to be only temporary.

Can Greg seduce Rain into staying longer?

Possibly forever.

His Flight Plan Yvette Hines Release Date: February 9, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/F, IR, Contemp Publisher: ARe Book Description: Last thing he expected was to be captivated by her and have his heart take flight…

Kiera Stanfield is tired of making bad choices when it comes to men. Her socialite mother and business mogul father haven’t faired any better when it’s come to matchmaking for her either. Believing the right man will never come along she takes herself out of the dating scene. It’s not like she’s going to miss it. Running her community center takes up most of her time anyway.

Drake Rhine has his hands full being a commercial airline mechanic. As if the problems that entails aren’t challenging enough, his life gets more complicated when, at the end of his shift, he volunteers to help with a difficult customer. What he doesn’t count on is her being thoroughly captivating.

The last thing Kiera wants is to be caught up in another impossible relationship, but she can’t get Drake off her mind. Will this be just another hopeless relationship doomed to fail, or is Drake her destiny?

Midnight Run Bailey Bradford Release Date: February 10, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/M, shifter, BDSM Publisher: ARe

Book Description: Always the lone wolf, never the mate…

Alpha Jack Herman used to have a pack, but he's been alone for a long time. When he catches a whiff of another shifter encroaching on his preferred hunting grounds, he's determined to put a stop to that immediately. There's only room for one wolf in Jack’s territory—Jack.

Captured as a pup, Malakai is a shifter, but he's neither wolf nor alpha. What he is, is scared, exhausted, starving, and close to giving up. Hunted by a predator, Malakai fears his newly found freedom is about to come to a violent and abrupt end.

Instead, he finds himself in the arms of a man strong enough to do whatever he must to take care of Malakai.

Quinn's Virgin Woman Sam Crescent Release Date: February 11, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/F, Contemp

Publisher: ARe Book Description: Claiming his woman will be his greatest mission yet!

After completing his last mission Quinn Powell is leaving the Navy SEALs behind to tackle what just might be his greatest challenge yet, claiming Kaley Woods. The woman is both his sister's best friend and Quinn’s greatest weakness, two things that would send any sane man running in the opposite direction.

But then Quinn’s not the type to run.

When Kaley heard that Quinn was coming home, she wondered if he’d still affect her in the same way. Now that he’s living in her apartment, she has her answer. Everywhere she turns, he’s there—strong and intent—his effect on her more powerful than ever. She knows he’s returned in search of something. What she doesn’t realize is he’s come determined to make Kaley his…in every way possible.

Lucian’s Soul Hazel Gower Release Date: February 12, 2015 Genre: Erotic Romance, M/F, Para Demons/Angels Publisher: ARe Book Description: Since the beginning of time, humanity has made one fatal mistake... Angels and demons are not who humans think they are.

For millennia it has been up to the king of the demons, Lucian, to save humans and shifters from the horrors the angels inflict upon the world and the innocents living within it.

He’s grown weary of the war and his passion for saving his charges has faded. But there is hope. It is said when the angels are close to achieving their goal, and Lucifer himself barely cares anymore, the tides will turn and love will cure all. Lucifer will find his one. His soul mate. A mate who will love him unconditionally, lending him strength and power more deadly than anyone could imagine. And now...that time has come.

Excerpt: If someone says the root of all evil is money, they’ve never met a witch. Hot on Tara Sobrantes heels, I hungered for a quick capture. But my past experiences with brimstone-users had taught me not to eat the candy house until Gretel had heated the oven. The permanent fireball scar on my right butt cheek reinforced the lesson.

Capitalizing on a rare break in the rain, I peered through the branches and foliage I’d arranged to obscure my position in one of the Pacific Northwest’s oldest forests. Drawn to the sweet scent of exhaled carbon dioxide, a deer fly landed on my cheek. I flicked away the bloodsucker while keeping my gaze on a distant group of figures.

Three hundred feet away, the Mystic Monks began another round of tiresome morning rituals. For four lousy days I’d watched them worship their gods. Watched, waited and shivered through one bonechilling downpour after another. I knew Tara was hiding at the monastery. While I might not have her yet, or the large bounty she’d fetch from shirking a loan shark, I was still in the game.

A man wearing a burgundy cloak ventured away from the others, heading deeper into the woods. He glanced around, perhaps to confirm he was alone, and then crouched until he almost sat. The monk lifted the hem of his woolen robe, carefully draping the material over his knees. I scrunched my nose and started to look away when something caught and held my eye. A steady stream of yellow wet the thick carpet of pine needles between his feet. The men I’d known didn’t squat when they pissed—I got you, Tara.

I stood, careful not to make a sound. In the tight cat suit I wore, the movement caused the plastic edge of my Para Hunter identification card to poke my hip. A practiced shake released two Fae kissed, silver blades from their leather holsters and into my hands. Blades were good for close combat, not for the gap I currently faced. With well placed, gliding steps, I narrowed the opening between us.

Finished urinating, Tara rose, letting the hem of her heavy robe fall. I quickened my pace, I couldn’t afford to lose her bounty. My brother was all the inspiration I needed to complete this job.

A scream pierced my thoughts and the damp, morning air. The pressurized wail thickened then transformed into a muted gurgle. Tara’s hood fell backward, revealing a bobbing metal shaft protruding from under her jaw. Someone, not me, had launched an arrow into her throat.

Move! I lunged forward, feet slipping as my boots sought purchase on the slick ground. Razor sharp, a barb sliced through my suit and lodged into the skin and muscle of my shoulder. The force of the arrow shoved me backward and to the ground. An instantaneous, moor-like sweat coated my skin.

My nostrils flared like a wounded animal, and I scrambled to my feet. Normally, I’ll stubbornly stand my ground, but I’m not stupid. My attacker knew my position, and I didn’t know his. If I stayed put, he’d fill me full of metal like a scrap yard.

Racing away in a crazy zigzag, I heard near noiseless whispers as the air parted, making way for a barrage of arrows. Bolts lodged into the trees all around me, at head level. Yes, someone wasn’t trying to scare me off. Someone wanted me dead. Not here, not now. Not when my brother and his family were counting on me.

Bites of pain skewered my arms, then a leg. The cold cramp of fear tightened its hold on my lungs. Holy shit, I was going to die. Adrenaline driven, I pushed forward long after my wounds should have dropped me.

A misty fog had descended on the dense pine canopy when I finally allowed myself to stop running. I sank to the ground at the base of a tamarack pine. In unison, my muscles and lungs screamed a tortured ditty, whose tune I was hella familiar. I need a new profession or I’m not going to make it to my thirtieth birthday.

Blinking, I tried to focus eyes blurry with tears. I had officially accepted Tara’s mark. For two weeks she was supposed to be off limits to all other Para Bounty Hunters. That was the unwritten code. Someone violated that code, and that someone was here. They’d killed her and tried the same with me. Who? Why? And how had they found Tara? Some might call it cockiness, I called it first class investigation skills. I was positive that I alone figured out the connection between brother and sister. Tara had blended in seamlessly with the monks. It took me days in that damn hidey-hole to catch her slip.

Lids closing, I slowed my breathing. Trading pain for awareness, I listened to the steady dripping that came from the pine needles above. Morning dew ran down the rough grooves in the bark. A crackle here, a chirp there, then quiet. Head bowing to my chest, minutes spooled by. A long, low howl broke the quiet, followed by another, then another--young, excited yips joining in.

I’d forgotten others beside the monks called the Pacific Northwest home. Wolves hunted in secluded places like this, and the blood trail I left behind was ideal for tracking.

Unspoken J.A. Garland Genre: Urban Fantasy Publisher: BURST Books Date of Publication: January 5, 2014 Word Count: 40,738 Cover Artist: E. Smith

Book Description: Paranormal Bounty Hunter Myka Quinn left behind her failed attempt at wolf Pack life. Now she is focused on providing for her brother and staying out of werewolf territory.

But when she’s framed for a witch’s murder, she must either accept help from a very unlikely source, or watch the lives of those she loves rip apart.

CHAPTER 1 KATIE LEANED AGAINST the railing, staring into the night. A warm breeze touched her face, bringing with it the scent of salt and fish. Every so often, droplets of water touched her skin as the waves lapped against the side of the boat. The bass from the music that played behind her vibrated through her feet and into her chest. Lights flashed at her back, throwing her shadow onto the waves below in spastic fashion. She took a deep breath and squinted her eyes. On the far horizon, just to her right, she could barely make out the lights of Liberty Island. She sighed again and leaned forward farther, resting her elbows on the railing.

She had always wanted to see New York. She and Deb had tentatively planned a trip for the summer after graduation, before going to college. Katie thought maybe it would be a trip to orient herself with the city— attending college in the city was high on her list of things she wanted to do—but she hadn’t decided where to go yet. In fact, it was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She needed to get her life back first before deciding what she was going to do with it. As usual, when Josh had showed up in her room earlier tonight and asked her to come with him, she couldn’t bring herself to say no. She knew the possibility existed that she would be involved in something unpleasant such as witnessing Josh taking a soul, but she told herself she was going to stop it this time. She wouldn’t stand idly by.

Arms wrapped around her waist, and the heat from a body penetrated into her back. She leaned into the familiarity and placed her hands over his. This was also why she hadn’t refused his request. She enjoyed the safety she felt in his arms. The way the world melted away and only the two of them existed.

“What are you doing out here?” Josh whispered in her ear.

She shrugged. “I needed some air. It was hot in there.”

Why was it so comfortable in his arms? Why did it feel safe? It shouldn’t. His nearness should have made her skin crawl and nausea creep into her gut. He was a demon, an unholy creature that thrived on human misery. Yet, that wasn’t how he acted. He cared about her, protected her, kept his promises to her, actually wanted to be with her. He had completely turned the few notions she had of good and evil upside down and instilled curiosity in her. She wanted to know about his world. And that should have been distressing to her. Despite the comfort and safety Josh offered her, she knew he was dangerous. Katie had experienced first-hand how demonic he could be. He had used her to get to Wes. But more distressingly, he’d threatened to kill her mom.

How could she stay with him? A part of the reason she did was to keep her mom safe. How had her life gotten so messed up?

“It’s a nice night.” He nuzzled against her neck. “But I really need you to help me inside.”

She nodded. “Sure.”

She took a deep breath and stiffened. This was her moment. She had to stay strong in her resolve to stop the soul gathering from happening.

He loosened his grip on her waist, and she turned to go inside with him. When she faced him, he placed his arms around her shoulders and softly kissed the tip of her nose.

“On second thought, we have a few minutes. Let’s enjoy it.”

She relaxed slightly. A few minutes would be nice. Katie smiled and placed her hands on his hips. She hooked her middle fingers around his belt loops, and he pulled her into his body. His heart beat against her. His arms tightened around her shoulders. Once again, the net of safety dropped around her. Once again, the world melted away. Nothing mattered but being in his arms. She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne.

Her pocket vibrated, pulling her out of her reverie. She released Josh and moved to get the phone out.

He stepped back to give her space. It was late, who would be texting her right now? Crap! What if it was her mom? Katie didn’t think her mother had a habit of peeking in on her in the middle of the night, but she wasn’t entirely sure either. No, it couldn’t be her mom. If she discovered Katie missing she wouldn’t text, she would call. She stared at the screen and frowned.

“It’s a text from Deb.” Deb and Katie often talked into the night, but this was late, even for her. It must have been important.

Josh positioned himself against the rail and stared at the distant lights of the city. “What does Deb have to say?” His tone was indifferent, disinterested.

Katie opened the message and read it. She inhaled a sharp breath. Shock settled into her stomach like a rock. She took a few steps backward until she felt the support of the rail against her back. Josh turned and slid closer to her, cocking his head to the side to get a better view of the screen.

“What does it say?”

“Paul’s dead.”

The words barely came out of her mouth. She couldn’t believe she was actually saying them. She hadn’t known the guy well, but the news affected her deeply. Her mind went back to the last time she saw him—at the reservoir. The look on his face as Josh took his soul was clear in her mind. Dizziness swept over her.

“Huh. Well, it’s to be expected.” Josh turned back around and stared into darkness.

Katie turned to him, her mouth agape. She studied the side of his face, trying to read his expression.

Was he really that cold and heartless? His gaze finally met hers.

“You can’t live without a soul, Katie.” The words were matter-of-fact.

Her breath caught in her throat. “You did this to him?”

She reminded herself that he was a demon. He was that evil.

He shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. I just gave him an option. It was up to him if he wanted to take it. He could have made different choices.”

Katie’s head spun faster. She shouldn’t have been surprised at Josh’s reaction. He was a creature from Hell and acting accordingly. But at the same time, it seemed so out of character from the way he acted with her. He showed compassion with her, caring. More often than not, he acted human. This callous side shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Why? And what about her? Why hadn’t she done anything? She was there, she could have intervened, told Paul to run, but she didn’t. She had just stood there like an idiot and watched the

whole thing happen. In her defense, she didn’t know he would die. Would she have acted differently if she had known? Yes, she would have. Still, did that excuse her inaction?

“What about the guy at the club?” The words croaked out of her mouth. She was fairly certain she already knew the answer to the question.

“Same outcome. Again, Katie, you can’t live without a soul. We all die. Some just choose to go a little sooner than others.”

Her chest felt tight. Breathing became difficult. Guilt coursed through her body. She should have done something. She should have tried harder. She shouldn’t have let them give away their souls.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Josh’s voice was low, comforting. He gently rubbed her arm. “There was nothing you could have done to save them. I would have gotten what I wanted no matter what.”

Katie opened her mouth to speak, but the words never came out. A door to her left slid open, blaring music poured into the air. A boy and a girl not much older than Katie stumbled onto the deck.

“Jossssh!” the girl called. “There you are.”

She wore a powder blue bikini that barely covered her. Katie’s eyes drifted up and down the girl’s body.

She was well muscled and well endowed—Katie had no doubts she was an athlete. As tall as she was, she could have been a basketball player. She obviously spent a lot of time in the sun. Her skin glowed golden brown. Her blue eyes seemed hazy, but Katie imagined they normally glowed. She was pretty. Katie glanced down at herself briefly. She definitely wasn’t as tan as the other girl. Katie wasn’t in bad shape—she worked out for volleyball and in the off season—but she didn’t think her muscles were as well defined. She crossed her hands over her chest and shrank back slightly.

The guy wasn’t bad, but definitely not Katie’s type. He was a bit thin. His swim trunks hung from his bony hips. She thought one wrong move would send them to the floor. His ribs were visible, and his cheeks seemed sunken in. He brown hair was slicked back on his head, and his eyes were glassy, like the girl’s.

As the girl stepped toward them, she lurched to the left and almost fell over. The only thing that saved her from hitting the deck was the guy holding her arm. Katie was amazed nothing popped out of the scant material on her body. Her drink splashed out of her cup, and the tang of alcohol hit Katie’s nose. The pair stepped up to them, with the girl sliding along the rail until she was pressed against Katie’s body, which made her even more uncomfortable and afraid to move. She was probably the only reason the girl was upright. What in the world were these two doing? Were they just two drunk kids that wandered onto the deck and had no respect for other people’s boundaries? It didn’t matter. Katie had other things to worry about. She was analyzing what she could have done differently with Paul. Josh stepped closer, sandwiching her between bodies.

guys.”

“Meg, Scott. We were just on our way back in.” Josh smiled and leaned closer to Katie. “This is Katie,

Meg turned her glassy red eyes to Katie and pushed herself upright. She held out her hand, which Katie took. It felt like she was gripping a dead fish.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Meg slurred. “Josh told us a lot about you. Didn’t he, Scott?” She turned to the boy behind her and giggled.

He laughed and averted his gaze to the deck. “He did.”

Katie smiled nervously and glanced from the pair to Josh. Her stomach tingled with anticipation. It was slowly dawning on her that she was expected to help Josh steal another soul. Maybe even two. She shook herself mentally. She needed to focus. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t be responsible for another death.

Meg grabbed Katie’s arm and pulled her away from the railing. The action was abrupt, and Meg had more strength than Katie thought possible. Where were they going? Should she say something now? But what? Nothing came readily to mind. She allowed herself to be pulled slowly across the deck and back inside.

“C’mon,” Meg said. “You have to check out the sauna.”

Katie glanced over her shoulder at Josh and pushed her eyebrows together. “Sauna? Isn’t it hot enough out here for you?”

Josh smiled and raised his eyebrows. “It’s never hot enough here.”

Meg giggled. “Plus, it’s private.”

Katie returned her gaze forward, following the path in which she was being led. They pushed their way through the crowd that was writhing and gyrating to the pulsating music. Sweaty limbs rubbed against Katie’s exposed skin, chests and backs squeezed her as she turned sideways to get by. Lights reflected off tanned skin in a haze of red, blue, and yellow, with the flashing strobe making everyone appear to be moving in slow motion. Or were they actually moving in slow motion? Had Josh slowed time down? Katie wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She had to stay focused on her task.

Katie contemplated slipping out of Meg’s grasp and disappearing into the crowd, but where would she go? It wasn’t like she had a lot of options on a ship, and she needed Josh to get her home. She couldn’t risk upsetting him and getting trapped so far away. How would she explain that to her mom? Oh, God! Mom! Would Josh threaten her life again if Katie messed up his plans to take these souls? She felt sick to her stomach. What was she going to do?

The crowd thinned, and they stepped into a dimly lit hallway. Meg continued to pull Katie along, while Scott and Josh trailed behind. Scott stared at the two girls through hooded eyelids and licked his lips.

Katie could only imagine what ideas were running through his alcohol-soaked brain. The thought didn’t comfort her. Meg opened a door and skipped into the middle of the dark room. A rectangle of light from the doorway barely illuminated her. She threw her arms into the air.

“Ta da!” she yelled, obviously feeling proud of herself.

Katie couldn’t tell what there was to be excited about; the room was dark. When the door closed behind her, it was cloaked in complete blackness. Katie wrapped her arms around her chest. Someone touched the small of her back as they walked by, causing her to stiffen. A light clicked on and bathed the room in soft orange. It was an impressive bedroom with a king-sized bed to her left flanked with nightstands on either side. Large windows looked out onto the black ocean, and drawers and shelves lined every wall, except the one to her right, which had a door. Katie assumed that probably led to the sauna. Everything was accented in gold. Had Katie been in there for a different reason, she would have taken the time to appreciate the rich beauty, but as it was, she didn’t let her gaze wander too far from the people in the room.

Scott walked over to Meg and wrapped his arms around her waist. She tossed her arms around his neck and plastered her lips against his. Their tongues darted in and out of each other’s mouths and filled the room with moist sucking sounds. Katie tightened her arms around her body. After several uncomfortable minutes, the pair broke the kiss and turned toward Katie. Josh stepped up behind her and placed his arm around her shoulders. Meg held her hand out to them.

“Come over here and join us.” Her tone was low and seductive.

Katie’s body tensed once again. She didn’t want to join them. This wasn’t her thing. Her legs itched to run out of the room, but Josh’s arm kept her in place.

“Gladly.” Josh smiled. “But I believe you said you would give me something in return for bringing Katie in here.” Josh gently squeezed Katie’s shoulder.

Now! Katie’s brain screamed. Now is your chance to stop this. Say something! But the words were stuck in her throat. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She looked at Josh in desperation. Was he doing this to her? Why couldn’t she speak?

Meg started giggling, which caused Scott to laugh.

“Right,” Scott said after taking a breath. “Our souls.” He gestured with his hand for Josh to approach.

“So come get them.” He and Meg started laughing again.

Josh stepped forward, a smile of evil satisfaction on his face. Ice entered Katie’s veins as he approached with his arms outstretched.

“No,” she said under her breath, finally finding her voice. “I can’t take part in this.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t loud enough to deter Josh or warn the two teens.

She had to get away. Perhaps a drastic action would be enough to stop the gathering from happening.

Mustering all the strength she could, she turned and ran out of the room. Hopefully it was enough. She heard Josh call her name, but she didn’t stop until she ran into a rail. Glancing down, she saw the dark water gently lapping the side of the boat. She inhaled ragged breaths. Her stomach ached, her knees went weak. Slowly, she sunk to the deck. Why couldn’t she speak? She wanted so desperately to stop him, and she couldn’t. She failed.

She allowed two more people to have their souls taken because of inaction. Or did she? Maybe she freaked them out and they changed their minds. She could only hope. But what about Josh? What was he going to say? Was he going to be upset? Was he going to do something drastic? She should go back, but she couldn’t make her body comply with the command to stand up.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the rail. A groan escaped her lips. She felt like a horrible person. Why did she allow this to keep happening? Why didn’t she have the strength to fight it? Footsteps sounded on the deck, and Katie looked up. Josh approached and sat down next to her. Katie wanted to apologize for running away, ask him not to be mad at her, but the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She laid her head on his shoulder.

“It was a lot to take in at the moment,” he said softly. “Too many emotions to process at one time.” He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her head. “But you still did a great job.”

The words did little to comfort Katie. She was still worried about what would happen down the road.

His lips found hers, and Katie lost herself in the kiss. His mouth opened slightly, so Katie opened hers.

His tongue found hers, and Katie pulled herself closer to his body. That helped relieve some of her concerns.

Maybe he wasn’t angry with her. That would be such a relief. Something clanked against her teeth. Confused, she tried to pull away, but Josh held her tight. Whatever was in her mouth found its way down her throat. Panic tightened her chest. What was going on? She tried harder to pull away, digging her nails into his arms and nearly choking on whatever was making its way toward her stomach. Her arms sagged as she was engulfed by warmth, followed by a tingling sensation that started in her stomach and spread out to her extremities. A feeling of peace washed over her.

Josh released her from the kiss but continued to hold her close. Katie was thankful. Her body felt light, airy, like it would float away. A sensation of giddiness passed through her, followed by excitement. It reminded her of feelings she’d felt as a child when she rushed to the tree on Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought her. A sense of hope surged through her. She turned to Josh. His features seemed clearer, his skin glowed with a golden hue. The blue of his eyes seemed brighter, his touch warmer and softer. She gently touched his face, and his lips curled into a smile. The tingling in her body grew more intense. Josh’s gaze and embrace held the promise of eternity. She didn’t want him to let go. She wanted the feeling to last forever, and she wanted to continuously feel it with him.

“What did you give me?” Her voice came out as a whisper.

“A soul.” He leaned forward and kissed her again.

Dealing with Devils The Road to Salvation Series Book 2 Pembroke Sinclair Genre: Young Adult Urban Fantasy Publisher: Booktrope Date of Publication: January 16, 2015 ISBN: 978-1-62015-730-5 ASIN: Number of pages: 170 Cover Artist: Greg Simanson Book Description: Dating a demon has its advantages, like helping deliver souls to Hell. Wait...what?

Katie’s world has been turned upside down. She's fallen for Josh—despite the fact that he’s a demon from Hell.

Wes is finally out of her system and her life.

Convinced she can change Josh, she sets out to make him a better person, only to find out things aren’t as simple as she’d originally thought. For one thing, Josh has Katie help him deliver souls to Hell, and she kind of likes it.

And to top it off, other more powerful demons are battling for her soul, and revelations from the past could change the course of her life forever.

About the Author: In 2009, eTreasures Publishing published my first novel, a sci fi adventure story. Since then, they have published my two YA zombie novels, my religious zombie novella, two children’s picture books, and two novellas with romantic elements. I have an urban fantasy novel about dragons and a vampire novelette that was published by MuseItUp Publishing. Musa Publishing has published my novelette with romantic elements and a collection of short stories. I have a middle grade urban fantasy novel that was published by Little Devil Books. My nonfiction book about slasher films was published by Scarecrow Press.

Writing is my passion. I enjoy creating fantastic worlds and memorable characters. I’m an active promoter of my works and love to talk to readers at book signings and readings. Doing giveaways on Goodreads has been an exciting experience, and having contests for readers has been fun. I actively promote various authors on my blog and participate in blog tours to promote my own work.

I write under several different pen names. For my children’s titles, I write under J.D. Pooker, and for my YA and adult novels, I write under Pembroke Sinclair. My nonfiction work is done under my real name.

I am a member of the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and am on a committee to create membership criteria for iPAL, which is a sister group to the Published Authors Liaison group and focuses on independent and self-published authors. I am also a member of the ALA and really enjoy doing library visits.

Blog: http://pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com/

Balancing Act: Not At All Balanced Right now I have two novels very near completion. I have five blog posts and three interviews I'm working on completing for a blog tour to promote the release of Blood & Spirits by Booktrope. I'm also trying to put together three cooperative projects that require my management and attention as well. This is not an uncommon workload, and often there is much more to be done. All of these things, these projects, are things that I handle on my lap top, and – internet connection willing – I manage to stay on top of it all… most days. Today, however, I lost my computer, for twelve hours and some change, to steaming video of Kaijudo: Rise of the Duel Masters, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and the ever popular Phineas and Ferb.

No. I'm not an ADHD Cartoon junkie. Well, I might be, but today's loss of my laptop – and thus my productivity – was my obligation (and joy) as a parent. I have a seven year old daughter and a nine year old son whose time is just as precious as mine. Between family plans, activities, and the desire to play outside with friends… I take all the time they have to give me. If that means that I write a little less, so be it. If that means I'm pushed a little closer to a deadline that I might or might not make, so be it.

Why would I put myself under such unnecessary stress? Because, to me, it is necessary.

I am a writer, an author and screenwriter, an on again/off again indie film maker, a creator. I spend my time split between gritty urban tales of vampires, ghosts, and zombies and science fiction realities set in modern day and off in distant futures, sometimes quite far from our own world. I am that person, that creator, that writer… but I'm also 'Daddy'. That last title is the one I'm the most proud of, and the one that trumps all the others.

There are days, of course, when I'm "in the zone" and the words are flowing out of me a mile a minute. I get distant, lost to the worlds that I'm exploring with my characters and the emotional and often physical pains and even triumphs they experience. On those days it's – I'm not going to lie – a little painful to drop a scene in the middle to go make pasta, or settle an argument. My characters scream in my head, demanding that I tell their story – that I get their tale down in words immediately. But all that just has to wait and, no matter what, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I've been asked how I can balance being a parent and being a writer, and I never know quite what to say. I know how I live my life, but I don't know that I can conceive of any other way of doing business. That's not true, not entirely I suppose, but I couldn't handle it any other way. Not me, personally, I mean. I'm not one of those people who feels they should sit in judgment over others, and how they parent or don't. I just know that when I consider doing things differently for myself then it seems like torturing myself, or worse… being a villain from a children's book (…or, yes, a cartoon).

So what if my coffee gets spilled a bit more than it would otherwise? What's the big deal if there's peanut butter finger prints on my mouse pad? Who cares if I know the names of most of the characters currently appearing on

the Disney channel? Does it really matter if I need an extra couple of days to really lock down a scene? I find the answers in the faces of my kids… who I know are growing up fast, and who will – all too soon – be out on their own… kids, I'll miss every second. It's simple. One day my kids will have kids, and it will have been my responsibility to show them how to ensure that their kids know that they are vital, important, and loved. I don't intend to fail in that job. That job is the only career that matters to me… everything else is secondary.

Pink eye, head lice, 'he hit me… ON PURPOSE', and bad dreams that need snuggling are all plot points of greater magnitude than any I could create in fiction. So, when it comes to balancing being a writer and being a dad, there really is no balance. If one were to put my writing on one side of a set of scales – knowing full well that from before my earliest memory, it was the only thing I ever really, deeply, passionately wanted to do – and set my kids on the other side of those scales… my kids would win out every single time, no contest.

Maybe one day I'll even be able to share some of my books with my younger children. My eldest is twentyone now… almost twenty-two… and he has a kindle, and paperbacks, and I really love hearing his thoughts on my work, especially when he really likes something. I think that, however, is fodder for another conversation, on another day, though… no?

Ultimately, my point here is this: Of all the characters that I've created, or had a hand in creating, my kids (all three even my oldest, who's out on his own and just got engaged) are the ones I'm the most invested in, the ones I care most about, and the ones whose stories really matter to me.

Blood and Spirits The Coming Storm Book One Dennis Sharpe Genre: Paranormal Thriller Publisher: Booktrope Publishing ISBN: 978-1-62015-595-0 Number of pages: 220 Cover Artist: Shari Ryan Book Description: Small-town life can be hard for a dead girl…

For Veronica Fischer the night to night life of a bloodsucking madam in Middle America is tough enough before she adopts Rachel Gregory, an eight year old ghost.

After her house is set on fire and Rachel disappears, all signs point to foul play. When she finds herself with a hit out on her unlife and warrants for her arrest, it becomes clear she’s going to need help.

storm.

Now she has to contend with horny zombies, violent spirits, and murderous grave robbers if she’s ever going to find Rachel and discover the awful truth of the coming

A raucous ride through the dangerous lives of the lecherous undead.

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/95oy3Sxf370 Excerpt:

Chapter 1

I’m told it’s an oddity that I still sleep. It only comes in short bursts, no more than forty-five minutes at a time. Most others with my condition, and I have only known a handful, tell me they don’t sleep anymore. Some of them haven’t in more than five decades.

I can’t imagine the hell that must be. Even in my brief moments of rest, I still dream and in that I find relief.

Even if the dreams aren’t what I like, they are still an escape.

The soft thickness of my comforter envelops me as I relax back into bed. Before I’m completely awake, my mind begins to unfold, opening to the world around me. In the distance, the fog is rolling in off the river, dense and blanketing, its vaporous fingers right there on the edges of my consciousness. The night is cool, and the last lights of the dying day dance across my ceiling, reflected from the crystals hanging in my window. The light tinkle as they sway into each other is a reassuring sound; the beautiful prisms they cast, a blessing. Not one night comes that I don’t wake to thank Jules for having the windows in this house ‘treated’. I can actually see the sun, even if I can’t be out in it.

I am now completely aware for miles around me. I’m awake, and not even grudgingly so. Not tonight. He’ll be here soon. I look forward to it and fear it all at once, but I ask myself ‘why dwell on what we can’t change?’

A soft breeze blows across me as I slip out of my bed, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand out. My mind recognizes the sensation as a chill, even if my dead flesh can’t feel as it once did.

Rubbing a hand down from the base of my skull, in a futile attempt to warm myself, I open the lid to the old steamer trunk Julie brought up from the basement today. She aired out everything in it while I slept, and the interior smells as though she even put some of my perfume on a few of the choice garments. I breathe in deeply and can the corner of my mouth turns up slightly. Time may have dulled Jules’ scent, but it’s still unmistakable, mingled in with the fragrance in the clothing.

Clothes have always held memories for me.

The crimson silk of a dress drops down over me and it’s as though his eyes were on me again. The mirror reveals the garment to be no more out of place, for its slinky cut or lack of length, than it did when I first

wore it a lifetime ago, when I could still remember being a girl. I first put it on in front of him and twirled around to raise the hem, hoping to entice and astonish with my feminine wiles, foolish enough back then to believe that because I loved him, a creature like him was even still capable of love.

I’ve learned from his example and years of my own mistakes – emotion is a weakness to be managed.

Yet, here I am, slipping into this dress that I haven’t worn since he left, simply because I know he’ll remember it.

Stepping out into the thick evening air, the raw power of the river hits me with the force of a freight train. Even from this distance, the power is unmistakable. Tonight, though, it has an odd feeling, as though it were restrained.

Standing still with my eyes closed, I concentrate and listen to the pulse of the water rolling heavily over the rocky bed, feel the lapping, almost angry waves against the shoreline. I don’t know why closing my eyes helps me bond to my surroundings, it just always has. It must be another facet of my insanity.

I’ve never met someone with my affliction that was as sane as they had been when they were alive. I wasn’t ever all that sane, either, but I’ve grown more detached as time has gone by. Too often these days, I feel like a spectator. Maybe that’s just my ‘coping mechanism’. My therapist would love to know about this fabulous train of thought. Prick.

As I enter the garage, it occurs to me that I’ve only got two cars at this house. Frank was to take Julie back to town with the Charger this afternoon to keep up the appearance that everything was normal. I’m certainly not taking my old Volkswagen Beetle to go bar hunting, so the flat black Eclipse will get a work out tonight. I hate this car, but she’s been fast enough to outrun a lot of demons I didn’t feel like facing.

Pulling out of the driveway, I already wish I’d stayed at the other house today. The drive into town is only thirty minutes, but I’m tense enough tonight and don’t need the wait. Telling myself that I needed to be here, for safety’s sake, only makes me feel more upset at my fear and lack of control.

Six months ago, I’d have talked to Lucy; she’d have taken the edge off. If she were here, though, I’d have had no need to contact Jules. Now I get to feel like a failure and look like one, too.

The tires scream as I kick the car almost sideways, narrowly avoiding a deer. My lack of focus is getting worse. As much as the idea repulses me, tonight I’m actually going to have to go look for food instead of letting it come to me. I haven’t had to do that in years. On one hand, it’s a fitting start to the night, but on the other, I had really thought I’d outgrown eating

out.

I always forget how much sensory input I lose when I spend time around all the steel and pavement.

The dark moonless drive down rural roads is a blessing, putting me more in tune with the land, at once one with the leaves on the trees, the bats overhead, and the rocks around the base of the roadside.

The sound of the insects in the high grass is comforting. Their flittering finds my ears even over the engine noise. They are mine as much as everything else here; as much as I am a part of them. It took more than twenty years to reach this level of awareness, and I’m still not foolish enough to believe I’ve mastered it.

I used to be able to spend time expanding my mind. I used to do a lot of things I haven’t been able to do lately. Everything has devolved so fast and I’m still reeling.

The past year I’ve been so caught up in the life of a dead girl, I’ve dealt with little else.

Rachel died eighteen months ago at the ripe old age of eight; I met her after that. She was hanging around the Jefferson House, where my girls work. If she hadn’t picked that place to haunt, I doubt I’d be in the mess I’m in now.

The town springs up slowly. Houses begin to sit closer together, then nearer to the road. Side streets appear, and businesses start to intersperse among the spider web of tight residential development, obviously undertaken with no real planning or forethought. Then, at last, the glow of the streetlights tells me I’m back where I’m in control. This is the town I run, inside and out. Or I did.

Passing the street that leads to the Jefferson House, it takes will not to turn. I want to check up on things, but personal priorities come first and I have to trust Julie has everything well in hand.

The dulcet tones of a southern rock cover band blare from six blocks away tingling my eardrums. The music is louder than usual. It should be a fun night, or at least a packed house. Either way, I’m content.

The transmission voices its complaint as I downshift onto the access road. I’ll never really like this car, but she does get from A to B more quickly than most. I still wish I’d driven something nicer tonight, something with a top I could put down. But, in the end, the car I’m in is the least of my concerns right now.

The lot isn’t full yet, leaving plenty of good spaces, but rock star parking wasn’t really a concern of mine to begin with. This just means that after I eat and pick him up, I should be able to get back here to a manageable crowd.

If I’m lucky, he’ll want to be social tonight. If not, then I’ll be too busy to make it back here at all. I

really want to show him that the biggest part of my life is still under control, so he won’t only see the little girl that has to call him in as her savior. Again.

Why do I need so badly for him to be proud of me?

As I cross the parking lot, the lingering scents of sweat, cheap beer, and longing hang heavy in the air already. This might be a little too easy. Though catching a fresh meal has never been really what I’d call difficult. That’s why the small town, Midwestern life suits me; I usually get what I want and rarely have to work that hard to have it. Hopefully, years of having my food delivered hasn’t left me too out of practice.

Someone sees me coming and opens the door and holds it for me. That’s the thing about being a regular in a small town rural bar – you are a known commodity, more or less. This helps and hurts when you have to hunt for food where you also gather socially. Like a balancing act. Some are good at it; some are not. Those who have been less than good at it around here, I’ve had to deal with. No one pisses in my pool even once and gets to do it again.

There’s a big cowboy at the end of the bar, a couple bikers near the pool tables, and a few burly construction workers at a table. After only the briefest pause, my route is clear in my mind. The first taker is my next victim. I really love playing this game. Maybe I’m not so rusty, after all.

I don’t get the chance to make it very far. As I pass the bar, in my peripheral vision, the dark brown of the cowboy hat moves in my direction.

“Now this is why I came out tonight. A good looking girl in tight fitting dress!”

The booming words come projected from the stout bear of a man standing at the end of the bar undressing me through his beer goggles.

The cowboy it is; he’ll make a full meal.

I do my best to fake a blush, while acting interested and offended all at once. Pretending to care what men think is an art. It takes moments to learn, but lifetimes to master. I’d like to believe I’m an expert.

I walk over to him smiling but with my eyes downcast. “My name’s Veronica. Who are you, handsome?”

He puffs up in his detail-stitched denim shirt, pushing out his barrel chest in a vain attempt to hide his well-tended gut. He’d be fairly good looking if he didn’t obviously take such pride in how good looking he thinks he is.

“They call me Buck, and if I could I’d like to do a lot more than buy you a drink.” he slurs slightly at me.

He motions to the bartender for another round and I do my best to blush again, this time giving a

halfhearted laugh at his insipid comment.

“Here ya go, darlin’.” He hands me a Jägerbomb and tries to force it to my lips “Bottoms up, baby!”

He reminds me why I live in a small town; this corn-fed hick really thinks he’s irresistible. Well, who am I to disappoint? I down the drink like a good girl going bad, exhale deeply, and lean over into him, letting my neckline plunge as it was designed to do. As old and tired as this dance is, I really do love his eyes on me. Some things never change.

“Now, that was worth it, wasn’t it?” he asks me proudly. “Buck won’t steer ya wrong.”

“We can go somewhere more private if you’d like…Buck,” I whisper softly in his ear, pulling back almost as slowly as the wicked grin spreads across my face. His perverse smile hides nothing. I have him now – hook, line, and zipper.

Money changes hands as we exit the bar. I laugh a little out loud while remembering the lack of faith I’d had in my abilities. I try to lead him to my car, but he’s intent on going to the alley behind the building. I try to convince him, sliding my hand slowly down over the large oval belt buckle with his name on it. But he’s convinced the alley is what excites him, and I don’t want to take the time to change his mind so I follow along.

It begins subtle and playful, but it’s clear that’s not what he’s in the mood for. He pushes me down onto my knees in a matter of seconds, quickly wrapping a hand in my hair and beginning to jerk my head back and forth violently.

He couldn’t hurt me if he tried so I let his game continue on his terms. Using my mouth like a cheap sex toy is a bit insulting, I guess, but I don’t need to breathe so I’m not gagging or choking. As always, I’m here to get what I need, and so I’ve gotten used to allowing them what they need. I look at it like my public service, or my good deed.

I could just take what I want and be done, but that generally leads to more problems than I want to deal with. I’ve even grown bored with the games of superiority and subservience. I let them feel dominant, and powerful. It’s the least I can do, really. Besides, the heightened state of arousal makes them taste better, even if most of them could use a lesson in hygiene.

It’s been so long since I did this in public. It might even be a little exciting if I weren’t so anxious, or if Buck were more attractive.

I’m only vaguely aware of the fact that he’s calling me a dirty whore. A little laugh flitters inside that he would call me dirty; the irony is lost on him but not me. I’ve almost completely tuned him out, focused on the job I’m here to do.

And then he makes a mistake; he hits my face,

hard. If I were still alive, it would have done some damage, broken bone, maybe even knocked me out.

This isn’t playful anymore – this bastard actually likes to hurt women – now, I’m done playing.

I pull back slowly from him, looking at his fist wrapped around what looks like a roll of quarters. He’s using every ounce of strength and leverage he has to try to hold me on my knees. He has no more effect holding me down than the weight of my clothes. His eyes begin to widen and he lets go of my hair as I rise slowly and determined. His fist is still drawn back, but we both know he’s not going to swing. I’m going over all the painful ways I can drive home the point that he doesn’t get to hurt the girls he plays with, all the while considering how much I love this dress and don’t want to ruin it.

Standing in front of him I wipe his liquid from the corner of my mouth and stare deeply. I can see the panic in his eyes. I can smell his fear, deep, rich and growing, and for the first time tonight, I’m actually aroused.

“Now, Buck, what could possibly have made you think that was a good idea?” I ask in a cool and controlled voice.

“Get back on your knees whore! I ain’t paying you to fucking talk!” He spews the words out loudly, in a vain attempt to regain control as he tries to force me back down with one hand, while still menacing with his fist. He only succeeds in ripping my dress.

Not this dress, not tonight. He’s decided it for me; tonight is the end of his story.

“I’m used to the rough stuff, Buck.”

In an instant, I have his throat in my hand and his back against the wall. He’s beginning to shake as he draws back to swing.

“I was just going to let you off with a little pain and a warning about hurting working girls, and look what you’ve done.”

The fear pours off of him in waves as I disregard his raised fist and calmly show him my torn dress.

It’s enough to make even my body react involuntarily to the stimulation. “You want a pretty girl to throatfuck, you pay for it. We’re all good. You like it a little rough, that’s fine. But slapping a girl around hard enough to actually hurt them? We just don’t do that, Buck. You’re incredibly lucky I don’t bruise easy.”

I flash him a smile and for just a moment I can see he thinks it’s all going to be okay.

“We had a perfectly good deal worked out, and now you’ve ensured that I’m the last thing you’re gonna see, and given me the extra work of dealing with your corpse.”

He shudders and wets himself.

It really is dirty how hot this has gotten me. I’ll blame it on my state of mind, certainly not wanting to

give this bastard any credit.

I peer deeply into his eyes, and his mind unfolds to me. I see all that he had planned for me; I know all that is ‘Buck’. The last restraint I had left is gone. He’s from out of town, no one here knows him, and only his trucking company will miss him.

I apply just a touch more pressure, and with a flick of my wrist, he goes limp. I let go and he crumples to the ground in a heap. Quick and painless is better than he deserves, but I’m pressed for time.

I drink from him what I need and leave him piled up behind the dumpster. At least he’s served his purpose, even if he was more trouble than I’d planned on.

Why this dress? Any other dress he could have ripped and he’d still be breathing. Clearly, I’m too stressed out.

I dial my cell and wait, more than a little irritated when I get voicemail. “Frank, you really need to call me back. I have a pick up for you and it’s time sensitive. Remind me again why I keep you on payroll?”

I walk back up to the end of the alley and wait for my phone to ring. The straps on the left shoulder of the dress are ripped completely out of the back and there are two deep tears where they had been attached.

This is what happens when you have to rush. Things don’t go as planned, and then shit gets broken.

“Can I help you with that?”

His voice is steady, soft, and scares me almost out of my skin. This is why I pay him so well.

I turn to face him and am a bit taken aback to see him dressed in jeans and a wife-beater. He’s never this down-dressed, even when I tell him to be.

“Not with my dress, but you can wrap that up,” I fume, nodding my head back down the alley to what remains of Buck. “And make it disappear.”

Frank O’Leary looks like what a Greek god should look like. Chiseled out of stone; an example of everything that makes a man attractive. His mane of auburn hair, always perfectly messy, hangs down between his shoulder blades. Like all men who look this good, Frank has no interest in women. He also has very few morals, a deviously creative mind, and an unequaled love for money. That serves to make him an irreplaceable asset. I keep telling myself I can nev-

er trust him completely, but he’s too smart to bite the hand that pays for his lifestyle.

Also, despite my attempts to keep him at arm’s length, I’ve grown attached to him over the years.

He stares, one eyebrow raised, at the boots jutting visibly out from behind the dumpster and nods.

“Any particulars on how he disappears or just ‘out of sight out of mind?’”

“Just make it fucking happen, Frank! I don’t have time for bullshit tonight!” As soon as the words escape me, I’m aware they’re harsher than he deserved.

The look on his face says it all. He understands. He’s not happy about it, but he knows why I’m stressed and he’ll accept it for now and hope that things will get better.

“He is coming in tonight, then?”

“Should be here in about an hour.”

I really have to get back to the old me, and soon. I know better than to kill this close to where I go to relax. I know he knows that, too. It felt good to destroy that piece of shit, and save generations of women from having to deal with him, but I still know better.

Frank looks down the alley again, then back to me and holds out a set of keys with a silver skull keychain. He knows me too well. I take the keys to the Charger and hand him back the ones to the little flat black speedster.

“How much gas does she have?” he asks, still looking down the alley, sizing up the job.

“You need to get some.” I call back at him, already walking toward the emerald-green muscle machine. “You’re on fumes.”

He’s muttering under his breath as I get in, but his voice is less than a whisper and it gets lost under the deafening roar of the engine coming to life. I put the top down and back her out slowly while checking my watch. Not much time left.

I leave the lot and the mess behind me, able to count on Frank. I have to get to the airport, and make sure everything is secure before his plane lands.

About the Author: Born and raised in the middle of the American Midwest, Dennis Sharpe has been a writer as long as he can remember. His mother has told many people about the fantasy and science fiction stories he'd write on scraps of paper, and staple together as his 'books', before he'd attended his first day of formal education.

He has spent many late nights at diners and dives, drinking coffee with a tattered notebook to put a voice to his feelings of himself and the world around him, and other worlds that can exist only in fiction. The voices in his head don't ever stop talking to him, and so sooner or later he has to get out onto a page all that they've

filled him up with.

Inspired by Neil Gaiman, Kurt Vonnegut, Frank Miller, Chrissie Pappas, Charles Bukowski, Stephen King, Issac Asimov, and countless classic literary influences, Dennis continues with the ability to write what at a glance might seem absurd, but quickly begins to resonate with our own thoughts and emotions. He writes people we know, love we've known and lost (and found again), and places we've been in our lives and in our heads. Even his fictional characters and worlds carry enough of the grey areas we experience in day-to-day life, to let us find the truth in his words, no matter how fantastic.

These days he can be found still writing, drinking coffee with friends, or spending time with his children (the true joys of his life), in Western Kentucky.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dennispsharpe

Twitter: @witlesslackey

Website: http://dennis-sharpe.com/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Witlesslackey

more.

Sherry was muttering to herself as she worked. She hated doing taxes. She hated paying them even

Snorting with disgust as she calculated the amount of money she'd have to pay this quarter, she saved the program and was about to shut off the computer when her office door burst open. Grumpy after her task, Sherry raised her head, ready to rip into the employee who had barged in without knocking. But, instead, the words caught in her throat and her eyes widened with surprise as she stared at the petite blond teenager who rushed in and slammed the door closed.

The kid didn't give her more than a passing glance as her gaze slid around the room to find the window overlooking the store. The office was eight steps up from the main floor, so it allowed for an eagle's view of everything. On spotting the window, the kid immediately dropped into a crouch, and then moved to it to poke her head up and peer anxiously out over the store floor.

Sherry's eyebrows rose at the action, and she announced, "It's a one-way mirror. No one in the store can see you."

The girl glanced around and frowned at her. "Shhh."

"Excuse me?" Sherry said with a half laugh of disbelief at the sheer gall of the girl. Expression turning serious, she said grimly, "This is my office, kiddo. I suggest you explain your reason for being here, or get out."

Rather than put the kid in her place, the words merely drew a full-on scowl from her as she turned and then concentrated a pair of the most amazing eyes on Sherry. They were a strange silver-green and seemed almost to glow with intensity.

Caught by those beautiful and unusual eyes, Sherry allowed her to stare briefly, mostly because she was staring back, but then she arched her eyebrows. "Well? Are you just going to crouch there and gawk at me or explain yourself?"

Instead of answering, the girl frowned and asked, "Why can't I read you?"

A short disbelieving laugh slipped from Sherry, but when the girl simply stared at her with bewilderment, she said reasonably, "Maybe because I'm not a book."

That got no reaction from the girl. She still continued to stare at her, looking almost vexed. Tired of thinking of her as "the girl," Sherry asked abruptly, "What's your name?"

"Stephanie," the girl replied almost absently, eyeing her now as if she were a bug under a microscope.

That examination ended abruptly when a chime sounded from the speaker in the corner of Sherry's office. It announced that the front door of the store had been opened. Seeming to realize that, Stephanie whirled to peer out at the store again, and quickly dropped back to her haunches so that only the top of her head poked up over the bottom of the window ledge.

"I told you it's one-way," Sherry said with exasperation. "They can't see—" "Shhh," Stephanie hissed without glancing around, simply raising a hand in her direction, palm up, demanding silence.

Despite herself, Sherry obeyed the silent order. There was just something about the girl, a sudden stillness and tension that had been present before, but now intensified. It made Sherry frown and glance past her to the store beyond the one-way mirror as four men walked into the shop.

Using the word "walked" was somewhat misleading. It was too normal, and had they just walked in she

would have simply taken note of their entrance and then turned her attention back to the teenager in her office.

But there was nothing normal about these men.

All four of the newcomers looked to be in their mid-twenties. They also all had longish, dirty blond hair.

One wore it in a ponytail, another actually had it up in a bun, and a third man had gelled it into long pointy spokes that poked out of his head like a hedgehog. But the leader, or at least the man in the lead, had a full, matted mane that made her think of a lion.

Sensing trouble, Sherry watched the men. They each wore jeans that could have used a run through a washing machine. Their T-shirts weren't much better, and they didn't walk in so much as stalk in. There was just something predatory about them, an air that made her feel like a gazelle on the planes of the Serengeti and grateful they were on the other side of the mirror.

Unaware that she had stood and was slowly moving to the girl's side, Sherry watched with trepidation as the lead man raised his head and took a long, deep sniff of the air, scenting it like the predator he made her think of. He then nodded, lowered his head and glanced around to ask, "Where is the girl?"

Not surprisingly, the half a dozen customers in the store continued perusing the kitchenware they'd come in for, probably not even aware that he was addressing them or to what girl he was referring. Sherry doubted anyone but her employees had even noted the girl's entrance, and busy with customers as they were, even they may not have.

When nobody paid him any attention, the lead man scowled and cast a glance back toward his men. The last man, the one that resembled a hedgehog, still stood in the open store door. Now he entered fully and slammed it, sending the bells ringing madly. When the chimes fell silent, so was the shop. Every eye in the place was now on the foursome, and the air seemed charged with a sudden wariness that Sherry was not only aware of, but was experiencing herself.

"Thank you for your attention," the leader said pleasantly, moving forward again. After half a dozen steps, he paused again, this time in front of one of her employees who had been helping a young woman who had a little girl clutching at her skirt.

Sherry sucked in a breath when the man's hand suddenly shot out to the side and snatched the mother by the front of her sweater. He wasn't even looking at her as he grabbed and jerked her forward. Only then did he turn his head toward her, his nose almost brushing hers as he demanded, "Where is the—" Sherry found herself tensing further when he paused suddenly mid-question. She bit her lip, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as he inhaled again, more deeply this time. Sherry didn't know why, but the action made her anxious for the woman, especially when he gave a pleasant little shiver as he released his breath at the end.

"You're pregnant," he announced, a smile growing on his lips. Dipping his head, he ran his nose along the woman's throat, inhaling deeply again. He then released a happy sounding little sigh and announced, "I love pregnant women almost as much as untreated diabetics. All those hormones pumping through the blood ‌" He pulled back to look her in the face as he said, "It's a powerful cocktail."

"Damn."

Sherry blinked and tore her gaze from the tableau below to glance to Stephanie, surprised to find she'd briefly forgotten about the girl.

"What?" Sherry asked, instinctively whispering this time. She didn't know who these people were, or what was going on, but all her inner alarm bells were ringing in warning now. Something very bad was happening and she knew instinctively that it was only going to get worse.

Stephanie bit her lip and then glanced around. "Is there a back exit in this place?"

"That door leads to the alley behind the shops," Sherry admitted quietly, gesturing to a door down another eight steps at the back of her office.

Sherry didn't blame the kid for wanting to run. She wanted to herself, but couldn't, not with her employees and customers out there at the mercy of the men presently filling her small shop. It was like four lions set among a pen full of lambs. Although she supposed that was the wrong analogy. Everyone knew the lioness did the hunting, not the lion. Wolves were probably a better descriptor for these men.

"You don't happen to have a car parked out in the alley, do you?" Stephanie asked hopefully.

Sherry merely stared for a moment. She had heard the question but hadn't seen the girl's lips move.

What—?

"Do you?" the teenager hissed, her lips moving this time.

"No. I take the subway," Sherry admitted quietly. Most people did in the city, rather than pay exorbitant parking fees.

The girl sighed unhappily and then peered back to the drama taking place on the other side of the mirror.

Sherry followed her gaze. The leader now had the young mother pressed up against the checkout counter, her body bent back over it, but all he was doing at the moment was sniffing her neck like a dog. It was weird, and might even have been funny if Sherry hadn't noted the knife he now retrieved from his pocket and flicked open at his side.

"Oh crap," she breathed.

"Yeah," Stephanie muttered. "A car would have made this so much easier."

"Made what easier?" Sherry asked in a distracted voice as she watched the man run the side of the blade lightly up the apparently pregnant woman's stomach toward her throat. The woman wasn't reacting at all.

Her expression was blank, as were the expressions on the faces of the others in the store. Even her child simply stood there, blank-faced and unconcerned. The only people in the store with any expression at all were the leader and his men. The leader was smiling a soft almost sweet smile, while the three men who could have been his brothers were all grinning widely with what she would have said was anticipation.

"You better start running," Stephanie said grimly, moving to lock the door leading into the store.

"I'm not running anywhere," Sherry said, her words sharp despite her effort to keep her tone soft. "I'm calling the police."

"The police can't help them," the girl said grimly, striding over to pick up the heavy filing cabinet in the corner and carry it down the stairs to set in front of the door that opened to the store floor.

Sherry was so startled by the action that she just stared. The filing cabinet was a tall, four-drawer legal cabinet stuffed full of paperwork and receipts. It weighed a ton. She doubted she could have pushed or dragged it across the floor, let alone lift it like it was an empty laundry basket as the girl had just done. She was trying to work out in her head how Stephanie had done that when movement below drew her attention back to the store floor. The leader had suddenly released the pregnant woman and stepped back.

Maybe he was going to leave. The vague hope had barely formed in her mind when he grabbed one of the mixing bowls off a nearby display and handed that and the knife to the pregnant woman and said pleasantly, "It's such a messy business and this is my favorite T-shirt. Why don't you do it? Bend forward over the counter, put the bowl on that stool there so it's under your throat, and slice your neck open so the blood flows into it."

"The crazy son of a—" Sherry began and then nearly bit her tongue off when the young mother, still with no expression on her face, did exactly as he'd suggested. She turned to bend over the counter, set the bowl on the clerk's stool behind it, positioned herself so her neck was over the bowl and slit her own throat.

"Damn," Sherry breathed with dismay, hardly able to believe the woman had just done that. "I'm calling the police."

"There's no time," Stephanie growled, catching her arm. "He's controlling those people. Can't you see that? Do you think that woman really wanted to slit her own throat?"

"But the police—" "Even if they got here before Leonius is done, they'd just become part of the slaughter. The only way to save these people is to lead Leo and his boys away from here ‌ and to do that I need to get their attention and then run like hell."

"Then we'll get their attention and we'll run like hell," Sherry said firmly as she hurried down the steps to unlock and open the back door. There was no way in hell she was letting the teenager handle the matter alone. She was just a kid, for heaven's sake. Sherry had just spotted the door stopper to keep the door open when a loud crash made her turn sharply around. She was just in time to see her desk chair sail through the one -way mirror and out of sight. Stephanie had pitched it through.

Sherry hurried back to the top of the steps to look out onto the store floor. The chair hadn't hit anyone, but the noise had definitely caught the attention of the men in the other room. No one else even glanced around, but all four men were now staring through the opening toward them.

Stephanie promptly flipped them the bird, then raced toward Sherry, shrieking, "Run!" The shout had barely hit her ears when Stephanie was streaking past her, catching her arm in passing and nearly jerking her off her feet as she swung her around. In the next moment, she'd been dragged down the stairs and out the door. Stephanie must have kicked the stopper out of the way as they passed, because the door slammed closed behind them.

The girl was fast. Inhumanly fast. Sherry was moving like she'd never moved before in her life. Adrenaline gave her a boost and her feet barely seemed to touch the ground, but the teenager was still nearly dragging her off her feet with her own speed. It was a short alley, yet they'd barely traveled up half of it when a loud crash drew her gaze over her shoulder to see the men charging out after them.

Sherry's heart leapt at the sight. Like the girl, they were also fast. Too fast. She would never outrun

them. And she was just holding Stephanie back.

"Go!" she shouted, shaking her arm in an effort to break the girl's hold. "I'm just slowing you down.

Leave me and run!"

Stephanie glanced toward the men gaining on them, looked forward again, and then did just that. She released her hold on Sherry and charged for the mouth of the alley.

Sherry was glad she had. It was what she'd told her to do, and at the same time being suddenly on her own with those hyenas nipping at her heels was heart-stoppingly terrifying. Despite her fear, or more likely because of it, Sherry managed to put on a little more speed herself, but it was like trying to outrun a sports car.

Impossible. Sherry's only hope was that they'd bypass her to chase after the girl.

The moment she had the thought, Sherry began to worry that they would do just that. She couldn't leave the girl to their less than tender mercies without at least trying to slow them down or stop them. That thought in mind, she glanced around for something to help with the effort. The only thing ahead of her in the narrow alley was a pair of garbage Dumpsters.

"Work with what you have," she breathed, and changed direction, angling toward the large blue metal bins. Would she have time to grab one to push toward the men? Would she be strong enough? Did garbage Dumpsters have locks on their wheels, and if they did, were the wheels locked on these Dumpsters?

Sherry never got the answer to those questions because that's when the gunshot rang out. She was sure she felt the bullet whiz past her ear, it was so close. At first she thought her pursuers were shooting either at her or the girl. It made her squint at the mouth of the alley some twenty feet ahead as she sought out the girl to see if she was all right. Her eyes widened incredulously when she spotted Stephanie in a shooter's stance, gun pointed her way while a police officer stood beside her seeming oblivious to what was happening.

Even as she saw that, several more gunshots sounded. This time, though, Sherry heard a grunt from close behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, shocked to see the leader only three or four steps away, his arm extended, hand reaching for her. His fingers actually brushed the cloth of her blouse even as he began to tumble toward the ground.

There were three holes in his chest, Sherry saw as he fell, and his followers were skidding to a halt to help him. With the hope that she might get out of this after all, Sherry turned and ran like crazy. All she was thinking was that if she got to Stephanie and the officer before one of the men gave chase again, she would be all right.

When Sherry reached Stephanie, the girl had lowered the weapon and was putting it back in the officer's holster, saying, "This never happened. You never saw us and you really should patrol farther up the road and stay away from here until the alley is empty."

Stephanie snapped the officer's holster closed on the gun as she finished speaking, and then the officer immediately turned and started up the road.

"What—?" Sherry began with amazement and then snapped her mouth closed as Stephanie grabbed her hand and began to run again, dragging her away from the alley mouth. Since Sherry was more than happy to get away from their pursuers, she went willingly, doing her best to keep up. But as soon as they reached the end of the street and had rounded the corner, she tugged at Stephanie's hand and gasped, "Wait … Stop … I can't … run any … more."

"We can't stop," Stephanie said firmly, dragging her up the road, though slowing to a jog at least. "Leo will be after us as soon as he recovers."

"That guy … you shot?" she gasped with amazement, still tugging on Stephanie's hand. Even a jog was too much for her labored lungs at the moment, and her words were breathless and choppy as she said, "He isn't … recovering … anytime soon. He has … three bullets … in his chest. His next stop … is the … hospital."

"He won't need a hospital," Stephanie assured her, not the least winded. She glanced around grimly as they reached the end of the short street, and then suddenly pulled Sherry across the road toward a small pizza place on the opposite corner.

"Kid … he'll need a … hospital," Sherry assured her wearily, but allowed Stephanie to usher her into the restaurant. She even followed docilely as the girl dragged her to the tables along the side between the counter and the windowless wall until they reached the last table, one not likely to be seen from the street.

"Can I use your iPhone?" Stephanie asked as Sherry dropped to sit in a booth with her back to the front of the shop.

Sherry grimaced and wheezed, "I don't have it. Or my purse either," she added with a frown.

"Just catch your breath. I'll get you a drink," Stephanie said, and as quickly as that was gone.

Sherry pushed her hair back from her sweaty face, then closed her eyes on a sigh. The last few moments played through her head like cut scenes from a film; that poor woman slitting her own throat, the chair crashing

through the window, the leader of the small gang of hoodlums reaching for her even as he fell from his wounds … his eyes, glowing and alien.

Sherry shook her head and covered her own eyes briefly, pressing on them in an effort to blot out the images. She wondered where her nice boring safe life had gone … and why she was sitting in a pizzeria like a well-behaved child when she should be calling the police, going back to check on her people and customers, and— "Here."

Sherry raised her head and sat back abruptly as Stephanie set a soda and a slice of pizza on the table in front of her. Sherry's gaze slid from the two items to the identical items in front of Stephanie as the girl slid into the booth across from her.

"I didn't know what you like so I got you a deluxe slice and Coke," Stephanie explained, picking up her slice of pizza to chomp into the end of it.

Sherry gaped as she watched the girl chew and swallow with relish, and then asked with amazement, "How can you eat?"

"I'm hungry," the girl said simply. "You should eat too."

"I don't eat carbs … or drink them. Coke is nothing but syrupy water," Sherry said automatically, and then realizing how stupid those words were under the circumstances, she shook her head. "I don't understand how you can act like this is all just—" "Sugar is energy," Stephanie interrupted. "And you need to keep up your energy in case we have to run again. So eat," she ordered, sounding remarkably like the adult here.

That fact made Sherry scowl. "We should be calling the police."

"Yeah, 'cause that cop at the mouth of the alley was so useful," Stephanie said with dry disinterest before taking another bite of her pizza.

Unable to argue with that, Sherry frowned and then asked, "Speaking of that, what happened there?"

Stephanie arched an eyebrow, but was silent for a moment as she finished chewing and swallowing.

Then she sighed and said, "You obviously couldn't outrun them, and I couldn't leave you behind for them to catch, torture, and kill, so when I spotted the cop at the mouth of the alley, I ran ahead to grab his gun and shoot Leo to buy us some time. Fortunately, it worked."

Sherry didn't point out that she had been there and seen all that, instead she simply asked, "And the co—police officer, just let you take his gun?"

Stephanie shrugged. "I controlled him. He won't remember any of it."

"Which will really confuse him when he realizes his gun has been fired," Sherry muttered, but her mind was on the girl's claim that she'd controlled the cop. She wanted to laugh off the suggestion, but the man had looked as blank-faced as the woman who'd slit her own throat in the store. Stephanie had claimed Leo was controlling that woman too. So Leonius had controlled the woman, Stephanie had controlled the cop … How? That particular skill set was just not something Sherry knew humans to have.

"There they are."

Sherry glanced around sharply and spotted the four men moving swiftly past the restaurant's front window. She shrank down in her seat when one of them glanced through the window, but they didn't slow or stop, so she guessed she hadn't been seen. That wasn't a surprise to her, considering they were in the dark back corner. What was surprising was the fact that the leader, Leo, as Stephanie called him, was up and walking around as if nothing had happened.

"Damn," she breathed, staring at the man until the group moved out of sight.

"I told you being shot wouldn't stop him," Stephanie said solemnly.

"I know but … how?" she asked with bewilderment.

Stephanie was silent for a moment as she continued to eat her pizza, but after a couple of bites she set it down with resignation and reached for her pop. She took a pull on the drink, and then set that down too, to eye Sherry thoughtfully. After a moment she sighed. "I suppose I'm going to have to explain."

"That would be nice," Sherry said dryly.

Stephanie nodded. "Vampires exist. Although Leonius and his men are no-fangers, but they still survive on blood so I suppose they're still vampires. As am I, though I'm an Edentate."

Sherry blinked as the words raced through her mind. No-fangers? Edentate? She had no idea what either of those were, so focused on the word she did recognize.

"Vampires?" she asked, not bothering to hide her disbelief. "Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but vampires do not exist. Besides, vampires bite people, they don't have them slit their own throats open and bleed

into a bowl."

"Uh-huh," Stephanie didn't look upset by her words. "So how do you explain his controlling that woman to make her slit her own throat? Or my controlling the cop?"

Sherry considered the question briefly and then suggested, "Hypnosis?"

Stephanie rolled her eyes. "Come on, you don't seem like a stupid woman. Leo didn't have time to hypnotize her, and I certainly didn't have time to hypnotize the cop." She scowled and then asked, "What's your name?"

"Sherry Carne," she answered. "And fine, maybe this Leo didn't hypnotize the woman in my store, but he did something and it wasn't because he's a vampire. Vampires have fangs and bite people."

"A minute ago you said there were no such things as vampires, now you're saying there are, but they have to have fangs?" Stephanie asked with amusement.

"Well …" Sherry frowned. "If you're going with the whole vampire thing to cover the real story, then at least be consistent. Vampires are dead, soulless creatures who crawl out of their coffins and bite people."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Stephanie said, sounding weary and much older than her years.

Shrugging, she straightened her shoulders and added, "Turns out we're both wrong. Vampires aren't dead and soulless, and while most do have fangs, Leo and his little Leos are an aberrant strain. Like I said, they're called no-fangers. They don't age and they do need blood to survive, but they don't have the fangs to get it, so they cut their victims. They're also usually crazy. But not normal crazy, nutso crazy."

Sherry tilted her head slightly and eyed the girl. There was something about the way she'd passed on the information … It had been a lecturing tone, but there was something under the words, some emotion almost like shame, that she didn't understand.

"You don't believe me," Stephanie said with a shrug. "That's okay, but just let me tell you what's going on. You can believe it or not as you like, but just remember it. It might save your life before we get out of this."

Sherry was silent for a minute, considering the girl, but then decided there was no harm in listening.

Besides, it gave her a good excuse to just sit there while she tried to find her second wind, so she leaned back in her seat with a nod. "Go ahead."

Stephanie relaxed a little and even managed a small smile. "Right, just so we're clear, I am claiming that vampires exist. There are some with fangs, some without, but both can read and control mortals. Leo and his little Leos—Two, Three, and Four—are one of the variety without fangs."

"Two, Three, and Four?" Sherry asked.

Stephanie shrugged. "They probably aren't Leo Two, Leo Three, and Leo Four, but he names all his sons after himself so they're all Leos number something-or-other, so they just go by their number."

"His sons?" Sherry asked with disbelief. "There is no way those men are his children. They all looked to be the same age."

"Vampire, remember?" Stephanie said pointedly. "Vampires stop aging physically at around twentyfive."

Sherry let her breath out on an exasperated sigh, finding it hard to swallow all of this, but she'd agreed to listen, so waved for her to continue.

"I grew up as normal and ignorant of what's out there as you did, but Leo and some of his other sons kidnapped my sister and me from a grocery store parking lot when I was fourteen," Stephanie announced. Her mouth tightened and then she added, "We were eventually rescued, and Leo's sons were caught and executed by the Rogue Hunters but—" "Rogue Hunters?" Sherry interrupted.

"Cops for immortals, or vampires, as you would call them. They keep the other immortals in line," she explained. "Anyway, I don't know if it's because of his sons getting killed or what, but for some reason, Leo became sort of obsessed with my sister and me. He wants to add us to his breeding stock."

Sherry stared at her, silently processing, and then she cleared her throat and asked, "What do you mean he wants to add you to his breeding stock? Not …?"

Stephanie nodded. "It's how he got all the junior Leos. I doubt many of the mothers were willing."

Sherry shook her head slightly. "You make it sound like he has a lot of them."

"One of the sons who helped him kidnap my sister and I was Leo the 21st. According to him, he was one of the older sons," Stephanie said with a shrug. "He claimed there were fifty or sixty of them, that there have been hundreds over the centuries, but some killed themselves, some were killed, and Leo killed several others when they refused to do what he wanted, or when they otherwise pissed him off."

Sherry didn't say anything. It was crazy, like a vampire soap opera or something. It couldn't be true …

could it?

"Anyway," Stephanie continued, "like I say, Leo senior took a shine to my sister and me and said he'd come after us, so Dani—my sister," she added, "Dani and I have been hiding out and protected since."

"Until today," Sherry said.

Stephanie grimaced. "I was protected. I was with Drina and Katricia. They're Rogue Hunters."

"Vampire cops," Sherry muttered.

"Immortal cops really, or Enforcers, but vampire cop will do. Just don't use the term vampire in front of the other immortals. They can get testy about that," Stephanie informed her, and then continued. "Drina and Katricia are both getting married so we went wedding dress shopping. I …" She sighed and grimaced. "I forgot something in the car and just nipped out quickly to get it, but …" Stephanie shook her head. "It was just my luck to pick a moment when Leo and his boys decided to walk down that street."

She paused briefly and frowned before saying, "There haven't been any reported sightings of Leo and his boys in Toronto since Dani and I were rescued. They cleared out and have been hanging south of the border for a long time. They were last spotted somewhere in the southern states. I never would've gone out to the car if I'd known they were in the area. I just …" She heaved out a deep sigh and then said, "Anyway, I spotted them before they saw me. I nipped into your store hoping they wouldn't see me, but I guess they did."

When Stephanie took another bite of pizza and began to chew, Sherry was left to wonder if she believed anything the girl had just said. Oddly enough, while Sherry had started out not believing, she found she now did. She had no idea why. It was crazy. Vampires, mind control, reading thoughts, breeding stock …

Sherry pushed those thoughts away for now to switch to a subject that had been worrying her since leaving the store. "How long does the control last?"

Stephanie paused to peer at her briefly, and then understanding crossed her face and she assured her, "Not long. I mean, it can continue for a little bit after the vampire leaves their presence if they put a suggestion in their thoughts, but I'm sure Leo and the boys didn't get a chance to do that before chasing after us. The moment they left the building, your employees and customers probably snapped out of it and helped the woman who cut herself."

"If they could help her," Sherry said unhappily, picking up her slice of pizza and shifting it in her hands briefly before taking a bite. It was surprisingly good. Surprising because she wouldn't have expected anything to taste good at that point. She guessed the scare she'd just had, and surviving it, had awakened her taste buds or something. Whatever. It tasted good. Carbs or not.

"They could help her," Stephanie assured her. "She didn't cut deeply enough to hit the jugular. She's probably fine."

Sherry raised her eyebrows. "How do you know she didn't hit the jugular?"

"I gave her a mental nudge to stop her cutting too deep," Stephanie explained, and then grimaced and added, "Which Leo would have recognized right away. That's why we had to make our move when we did. He would have used the people in the store against us, tortured them to make me come out. So I had to make sure he saw me leave and knew I wasn't there. It was the only way to be certain he'd leave them alone."

Sherry wasn't surprised at the claim that she'd given the woman a mental nudge not to cut too deep. After all, the girl had said she'd controlled the cop too. What did surprise her was that the girl had thought of the people in the store at all. Stephanie was a nice kid. There was still a possibility that she was crazy as a loon.

Sherry was finding herself almost believing her tale, but it was a lot to swallow. So either Stephanie was a brave, thoughtful kid who had risked getting caught to save the pregnant mother, or she was a nutcase. A nutcase who was a damned good shot, Sherry thought. Stephanie had hit a moving target around her. Nice.

"So where did you learn to shoot like that?" Sherry asked quietly.

"Victor and D.J. take me to a shooting range every other day," she said. The names meant nothing to Sherry, so she was glad when the girl added, "Victor is … well he's sort of my adopted dad I guess." She said it quietly, her voice thickening, and then she rushed on, saying, "And D.J. is like the young, pain in the butt uncle who ruffles your hair and embarrasses you in public."

Sherry smiled faintly at the description. "And your real dad?"

"Alive, well, and mortal," Stephanie said casually, too casually, and she was avoiding her gaze. Picking at what was left of her pizza, she added, "He and Mom think I'm dead." Before Sherry could respond, she added, "But Victor and Elvi took me in and look after me. Elvi lost her daughter so I'm a gift, she says, and they're great."

Great, but not her real parents, Sherry translated as the girl turned her head away and dashed quickly at her eyes. Deciding a change of topic might be good, she said, "So, the police can't help us here … but what

about those Rogue Hunters of yours? We should find a phone and call them so they can hunt down this Leo and his men."

Sherry just couldn't call the man's followers his sons. It seemed impossible that they were his children.

They all looked around the same age. Brothers would have been more believable. Realizing that Stephanie wasn't responding to the suggestion of calling in her Rogue Hunters, Sherry raised her eyebrows. "Don't you think?"

"What?" Stephanie asked. Her blank expression as she turned back to face her made it obvious she hadn't been listening.

Knowing the girl's thoughts had probably been with her birth parents, Sherry asked patiently, "Don't you think that we should call your Rogue Hunters?"

Stephanie shook her head and stared down at the pizza crust she'd been unconsciously tearing apart.

The slump to her shoulders and defeated air about the girl were a bit alarming. Sherry had no idea what was going on exactly, but she did know this was no time for the girl to fall apart. Sitting back, she deliberately took on an annoyingly knowing air and said, "Oh, I get it."

Stephanie finally really looked at her, her attention caught. Eyebrows rising, she asked with interest, "What do you get?"

"You," Sherry said with a shrug. "I was a teenager once too."

Stephanie snorted. "Please. I don't know how many times I've heard that tired old line. Like you crusty old farts all think just because you were young back in ancient times that you know what life is like for me.

You don't. You were young in ‌ what? The sixties?"

"I wasn't even born in the sixties, thank you," Sherry said with amusement. "I'm only thirty-two."

"Whatever ‌" Stephanie waved that away. "You haven't got a clue about me."

"Hmmm. How about I tell you what I think and then you can tell me I'm wrong? If I am," Sherry added tauntingly.

Stephanie shrugged. "Whatever."

Sherry tilted her head and eyed her for a moment, and then said, "So, you were wedding dress shopping with this Drina and her friend?"

"Katricia," Stephanie supplied. "She's Drina's cousin, but also a Rogue Hunter. She's getting married too, to Teddy, who is the police chief in Port Henry where I live. We came to Toronto for a girls' weekend and dress shopping."

"Hmmm." Sherry considered that and then said, "And you say they let you go out to get something?"

Stephanie nodded, her gaze sliding away toward the front of the store and a frown flickering over her face.

Sherry suspected the girl was wondering where the two women were. She was too. Surely they'd noticed Stephanie was missing by now? And if they were in the area, the gunshots should have drawn them. She let that go for now, though, and simply said, "Well, I'm sure the bit about their letting you go out to get something is a lie."

Stephanie glanced back to her sharply. "What makes you think that?"

"Kiddo, if these girls are Rogue Hunters, or vampire cops, and this Leo is after you, like you say, I'd guess they keep a short leash on you to keep you safe. They would not have let you wander off on your own.

So, Drina was probably in a dressing room trying on a wedding dress, and Katricia was in there helping her with all the convoluted nonsense involved in putting one of those things on, or trying on one herself. You were probably sitting in the waiting area outside the dressing room feeling bored and neglected. No doubt you reached for your iPhone to either listen to music or watch a movie while you waited, and realized you'd left it in the car." Tilting her head, she added, "It's probably hooked up to the sound system in the car, which is why you forgot to grab it, so you thought you'd just slip out, get it and be back before they noticed.

"Unfortunately," she added, "you didn't get to the car before you spotted Leonius and his buddies and had to duck into my store for cover."

Stephanie didn't hide her surprise. "How did you know all of that?"

Sherry shrugged and reminded her, "You asked to use my iPhone earlier."

"So?" Stephanie asked.

"So, you don't have yours on you, so couldn't have made it to the car."

"Maybe I don't have one and was getting something else," Stephanie suggested.

Sherry shook her head firmly. "There are few teenagers around who don't have cell phones nowadays.

Besides, you specified iPhone rather than just saying cell phone, which suggests that's what you have."

"Okay, so how did you know I left my phone in the car, jacked into the USB?" she asked with interest.

"Because I'm always forgetting mine in the car for that reason," Sherry admitted wryly. "I plug it into the USB so I can listen to music I like and then forget it when I get out."

"Hmmm," Stephanie murmured, but she was looking at her with interest now. "Or maybe you have some psychic abilities and that's why I can't read or control you."

Sherry didn't comment. Her mind wanted to rebel at the possibility of anyone controlling her actions or thoughts, but she'd watched the pregnant mother slit her own throat. No one would do that under their own impetus. She did believe the customer must have been controlled … and if she could be controlled …

Pushing these disturbing thoughts away, Sherry said, "So, all of this being true, you don't want to call your Rogue Hunters because you're going to get hell for slipping away from your protectors and putting yourself at risk in the first place."

"Nah-ah," Stephanie said with a slow smile.

Sherry raised her eyebrows doubtfully. "You won't get in trouble?"

"Oh, yeah," Stephanie said dryly. "Once Drina, Katricia, Harper, Elvi, and Victor are done raking me over the coals, Lucian himself will probably show up to completely demoralize me," she admitted with unhappy resignation. "But that's not why I'm not calling."

"Okay," Sherry said slowly. "So why don't you want to call?"

"It's not that I don't want to call … I don't have to," she explained. "I already did. They're sending Bricker even as we speak." She tilted her head and then grinned and added, "And he's bringing you a surprise.

The Immortal Who Loved Me An Argeneau Novel Book 21 Lynsay Sands On-sale: 2/24 ISBN: 9780062316004

Book Description: A few hours ago, Sherry Carne would have sworn that vampires didn’t exist. That’s before rogue immortals rampage through her store, leaving bloody chaos (literally) in their wake. The kicker comes when Sherry learns that one of the vamps on the bad guys’ trail may be her life mate.

Her head says it’s impossible. The rest of her takes one look at Basileios Argeneau, and has much more interesting ideas.

Whatever Basil expected in a life mate, funny, outspoken Sherry isn’t it. But mind-blowing chemistry and instinct don’t lie. They tell him something else too-that Sherry’s connection to the immortal world goes deeper than she knows. And that she’s in the kind of danger only Basil can save her from-if she’ll just trust him, now and forever…

About the Author: LYNSAY SANDS is the nationally bestselling author of the Argeneau/Rogue Hunter vampire series, as well as numerous historicals and anthologies. She’s been writing stories since grade school and considers herself incredibly lucky to be able to make a career out of it. Her hope is that readers can get away from their everyday stress through her stories, and if there’s occasional uncontrollable fits of laughter, that’s just a big bonus.

Visit her official website at www.lynsaysands.net

Excerpt-Bottle Banished: Dreaming of Genie Brad Sanchez POV Unable to stop himself, Brad scrubbed his balls with the hotel washcloth. Under the hot water, the itching was almost bearable. “Fuck!” He glanced down at the one area of his body he took great pride in. He might be pushing fifty, but his size was impressive. At least that’s what his most recent lover had said, and his wife had praised his manhood too, quite content to have it in her mouth at every opportunity. She’d always referred to it as his mighty manhood like it was a super hero or something.

The spattering of red bumps covering his manhood was nothing to praise. He could barely take a piss without shouting in agony. It was like someone had rubbed poison ivy all over his balls and left him to suffer.

He needed to get to an urgent care or hospital. There was no way in hell he could meet Santiago’s man like this.

Stepping from the shower, he caught a glimpse of the offending rash in the mirror. He wiped the steam away so he could get a closer look. “Holy Shit,” he groaned. He’d never seen anything like the angry bumps that had spread from his balls, to his dick, and now clustered on his lower abdomen. The whole thing had happened so bloody fast.

He’d gone back to the liquor store, getting Mark to open the door and let him in. Before he could get out the first question, what felt like scalding water had swathed his balls, sucking the air from his lungs. His knees had buckled, and he couldn’t speak except to spout off a few choice swear words as he fled out the door he’d been so eager to enter.

Something wasn’t right about the situation. There was absolutely no reason for the outbreak. It was like he’d been infected, but Mark hadn’t touched him, and, besides, the store owner had appeared as shocked as he was by the incident. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but he was beginning to wonder if Santiago was on to him and had summoned some supernatural source to intervene.

Bottom line, he didn’t need to know the cause of his misery to know he wasn’t going to make the meeting.

Not bothering to dress, he collapsed on the bed and found the right cell in his nightstand. He dialed with his thumb while his other hand stayed busy at work between his legs, scratching.

“Hey, Rocky here.” He listened, scratching harder.

“Man, I’m sorry. Something came up…I know. I realize that.”

Shit. This wasn’t going well.

“Give me another chance. I promise. It will be worth it.” He waited while the dealer argued with someone in the background. He responded at last with the answer Brad was hoping for.

“No, man. I won’t mess it up. See you then.”

Dropping the phone back in the drawer, he looked between his legs. “What the hell!” He jumped up. A patch of blood stained the white sheet where he’d been sitting. This was serious, more serious than he’d first thought.

He found the complimentary hotel bathrobe and tied it snuggly. Putting on pants wasn’t even possible at this point. He considered calling an ambulance but opted for a cab instead.

Ten minutes later, he was limping through the hotel lobby, ignoring the curious stares that followed his progress. He slid into the waiting cab, fighting to keep from scratching.

“Closest hospital,” he barked, meeting the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

With a nod, the driver pulled out.

Brad glanced out the window. “Who is…?” He swallowed his words, staring at a man waiting on the curb.

Tall, built like a linebacker with a smooth shaven head, and impeccably dressed, the stranger stood out like a diamond in a heap of muddy stones. He stepped up to a limo and slid in with a panther’s grace.

“You know him?” the driver asked in a heavily accented voice.

Did he? Brad wasn’t sure. There was indeed something familiar about the stranger.

“Djinn,” the driver muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, sir.”

Brad didn’t push. He had heard just fine, and he’d remembered where he’d seen the man before—the waterfront. The cabby’s comment confirmed what he’d suspected.

There was a jinn roaming Portland’s streets. He had no doubt now where the rash had come from.

Santiago was on to him.

Bottle Banished: Dreaming of Genie Bottle Banished Book One C.L. Riley Genre: Dark Fantasy/Romance Date of Publication: February 11, 2015

ISBN: ISBN-13: 978-1506170640 ISBN-10: 1506170641 ASIN: B00S1LBSC4 Number of pages: 301 Word Count: 80,500 Cover Artist: Steph’s Cover Design Book Description: Genie thought learning how to “do” The Hustle was the worst thing about 1977, right along with strobe lights and disco balls, but she discovers something far worse the day she is bottle banished by an unsanctioned hunter obsessed with her destruction.

Thirty-seven years later, she is awakened from her spellbound slumber by a homeless alcoholic who wants whiskey not a wish. Overwhelmed with shame and keeping secrets from even himself, Reid Romans is the worst master ever.

He stinks. He’s dirty. He’s rude, but even more maddening; he’s sinfully sexy under all the filth and attitude.

When his green-eyed gaze captures Genie for the first time, she’s hooked, and being hooked on a human is not acceptable or allowed according to the genie rule book.

While Reid’s unsavory past bites hard at his heels, and he’s accused of a murder he didn’t commit, a powerful jinn is stalking Genie, intent on adding her to his harem. She has rejected him too many times to count, but he won’t stop until he claims her—body and soul.

Genie and Reid have way more than one love-sick jinn to deal with. A ruthless FBI agent; a cold-blooded cartel; and a hateful hunter, who wants genie back in her bottle, banished forever; keep them fighting for freedom and against the desire flaring between them.

Dark secrets, forbidden love, and simmering suspense take Genie and Reid on an unforgettable journey where the past and future collide and wishes run out.

Please be advised: Bottle Banished is a multiple POV (Point of View) dark fantasy that portrays graphic drug use, violence, language, and sexual situations some may find offensive, including dubious consent, light BDSM, and a Ménage à Trios. There is a Happily Ever After (HEA) for now, but several doors remain open for future installments.

Readers will uncover numerous references to current and past pop culture sprinkled throughout the story. Watch author’s website for contests connected to these references!

Available at Amazon

About the Author:

C.L. Riley is addicted to books, coffee, and playing around on the Internet where she cyber stalks things she enjoys. She has a passion for reading dark fantasy, biker romance, paranormal romance, erotic thrillers, and everything “genie.� She has four books to her credit under a different name, thus the missing author photo. For now, she is keeping her other identity top secret.

A native of Portland, Oregon, C.L. Riley has a son in college and a teenage daughter that keeps her on her toes at home. Her house is filled with books; something her kids, to her dismay, call clutter. She is working on book two in the Bottle Banished series and the Scorched Souls serial, a four-part, biker romance serial series.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/GeniesGalore Website/Blog: http://clriley.blogspot.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/CL-Riley/1507738442832894 Goodreads Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9874055.C_L_Riley

Where Did Soul Storm Come From?

The Soul Storm books are an extension of my lifelong fascination with dreams. Ever since I was very young, I’ve had precognitive dreams. Those are the ones where I see something in a dream, and it comes to pass. In the spookiest of them, a dear friend was dying and tried to take me with him. I kid you not. It was early one morning and I was heading to work, driving the mountainous roads around Lassen Park in Northern California. For absolutely no reason, my Volkswagen Rabbit went into a spin, the wheel wrenched through my hands, and I slammed into a snowbank. It could have been a boulder, or I could’ve slewed off the cliff into the river. I discovered later that Don died at exactly the same time my car turned against me—to the minute. Coincidence? Maybe, but I’ve never believed in coincidences.

One of my most closely held beliefs is there’s more to the world than what I can reach out and touch.

It’s only very recently that people stopped believing in magic. Those who live in third world countries still do. There seems to be an inverse relationship between levels of industrialism and people’s willingness to accept that life holds mystery. I don’t want a world where science talks everything to death, trying to explain the unexplainable. I want some things I still have to take on faith.

Back to Soul Storm. Beyond Jungian psychotherapy, and dreams driving our decision making, the series has roots in environmentalism. Dark Prophecy shows us a world where we’ve run through our oil reserves, and people are panicking. Food is becoming scarce, and power outages are a daily occurrence. Riots erupt, fueled by fear.

Trading the story world for our real one, in a little less than a hundred fifty years, we’ve become dependent on so many things that are killing this planet. Steam-powered ships and the Industrial Revolution were the beginning, but we truly upped the ante after the Wright brothers discovered flight, and we traded cars for horses.

The two protagonists in Soul Storm are both flawed. Lara would just as soon live in the dream world she interprets for her patients. Things happened to Trevor as a young man that no one should have to live through. The challenges they face as a couple are realistic, as are their reactions to each other when things are heading south.

Many of my books are romances, but be warned, there’s no HEA at the end of this rainbow. Like the tagline for Dark Promise says: Some choices can never be undone.

If any of you read this series, I’d truly love to hear your impressions. Perhaps more than many of my books, these are near and dear to my heart.

Dark Prophecy

Soul Storm Book 1 Ann Gimpel Publisher: Dream Shadow Press Release Date: 12/11/14 Genre: Urban Fantasy When the dream world spills its murky contents, everyone’s worst nightmares run free.

Book Description: Dr. Lara McInnis reads auras and flirts with an elusive ability to foretell the future. Ambivalent about the magic within her, she’s done a fine job ignoring other aspects of her power—until now. After several patients—and a student or two—describe the same cataclysmic dream, she uncovers ancient evil intent on draining her power.

Lara knows next to nothing about her psychic side, but it will destroy her if she can’t come to terms with it.

Trevor Denoble has secrets, but he shields them well with a stunning body and a boatload of British charm. The airline he works for folds because there’s no fuel for the planes, and Lara’s changing into someone he barely recognizes. Though he doesn’t know it yet, the rest of his carefully crafted life is about to come crashing down too.

Living in a world teetering on the edge of anarchy, Trevor and Lara are faced with a series of painful decisions. Is the love between them enough for Trevor to swallow his distrust of Lara’s burgeoning paranormal ability? Will their personal demons tear them apart in a world gone mad, as shortages of everything from electricity to food escalate?

Book Trailer http://youtu.be/H2mtTvxkrT4 Available at Amazon Excerpt Dark Prophecy:

…Hours later, Lara let herself out of her office, reached back in to activate the alarm, and then locked the door behind her. Arabel had gone home at six. Normally her receptionist left a note if there was something she needed to communicate. Tonight there hadn’t been any notes because there weren’t any patients she needed to call. But there had been a few zucchinis from Arabel’s lovingly-tended garden. Lara was grateful, both for the organic produce and for the lack of patient-related affairs to attend to. She was tired and hoped nobody had a crisis that evening.

She double-checked the pager that lived clipped to her belt. As she moved away from the front door of

her building, she stumbled. The outside light was out—when had that happened?—and it was very dark in the shadows of the cavernous front porch. She made a grab for the railing to steady herself and took a tentative step toward the street.

“Stop right there,” a familiar harsh voice boomed from behind her.

“Mr. Beauchamp. That is you, isn’t it?” Alarm ricocheted through her, but she knew intuitively it was important to hide her fear. “What do you want?” Though she aimed for nonchalance, her voice sounded thin and shaky. Is it Ken? Aw, Jesus, who else could it be? She closed her eyes, gathering data from an unseen realm she knew well. Once her energies were focused, she discerned his twisted energy field throbbing against the darkness. Better the devil you know flashed through her mind. Not necessarily came close on its heels, as she realized, with a sinking feeling, that Ken Beauchamp really was dangerous. She’d known it the first time he walked into her office, but drawn in by his wife’s soft helplessness, she’d ignored her concerns, compassion overriding common sense.

“I want to talk. No, don’t turn around.” The man’s voice held menace as it sliced into her tumbling thoughts.

“What do you want to talk about, Mr. Beauchamp?” With effort, she kept her voice steady. “Surely whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. You really do need to call my office and make an appointment.” There, that seems like about the right amount of bravado.

“What did you tell my wife today? When you were in the bathroom. You’d better tell me the truth.”

“Are you threatening me? Because if you are, I’ll call the cops and have you thrown off my property.”

Anger was rapidly displacing her fear—or at least coexisting with it. She reached a hand into her bag in search of her phone.

“That wouldn’t be smart, Doc, not very smart at all. Take your hand out of that purse.”

Ken Beauchamp’s voice was mild, but an ominous undertone chilled her. Sweat gathered in her armpits and dripped down her sides. Think! she commanded herself. There’s got to be a way out of this.

“Well, Doctor?” Ken’s voice oozed sarcasm, with undercurrents of something darker and far more primal. “I asked you a simple question. Answer it and we can both go home.”

What was he doing? Lara dug deeper with her hyper-honed senses. His breathing seemed…uneven.

Was he getting off by intimidating her?

Something clicked ominously. The snick of a gun’s safety mechanism? What else could that cold metallic snapping sound possibly be? Fighting fear that threatened to paralyze her, Lara asked, “How’s Bethany, Mr. Beauchamp? She’s all right isn’t she?” Despite her concerns for herself, Lara was suddenly frantic about Bethany. day.”

“That’s none of your business anymore. We won’t be back. I just want to know what you told her to“Why is that important to you?”

“I ask the questions around here.” Yes, Lara thought as she listened intently, he was practically panting.

Oh shit, this guy’s a pervert on top of all his other less-than-stellar attributes. She flirted with flying down the porch steps and trying to outrun him, except she had dress shoes on and her heavy shoulder bag. What if he really did have a gun? She hadn’t heard the metal click again.

A car pulled to the curb in front of her building and she started, heart beating like a mad thing. Christ, is it one of his henchmen come to help out? Practically moaning aloud, she wondered what Ken Beauchamp had in mind for her…

Dark Pursuit Soul Storm Book 2 Ann Gimpel

Dream Shadow Press

Release Date: 12/30/14 Genre: Urban Fantasy

Old blood and ancient power pit themselves against evil so dark, deep, and menacing it changes everyone who comes into contact with it. And not for the better.

Book Description: Widespread rioting, plus shortages of fuel, food, and electricity lure demons across the veil to invade Earth. Drawn by anarchy, they’re out of control, drunk on their own power, and growing stronger by the day.

With her life crumbling around her, Dr. Lara McInnis is reluctantly roped into channeling her unpredictable psychic talents to help a detective who saved her from a psychopathic killer.

Problem is, she’s still quite the neophyte in terms of either summoning her magic, or bending it to do much of anything. Her lack of skill strands her in the murky underbelly of a world inhabited by dark forces.

Trevor Denoble may not be psychic, but his old blood gives him gifts as well. After years of uncertainty, Lara is really and truly finally his. He’s determined to keep her by his side, but she refuses to cooperate. The detective’s daughter is trapped in darkness, and Lara insists on going after her—to a place barred to Trevor. Not to be denied, he latches onto his Celtic blood and uncovers latent power. No stranger to violence, more blood on his hands is a small price to pay to keep the woman he loves safe.

Available at Amazon

Excerpt Dark Pursuit:

…Fingers hesitant on the keypad—the last thing she needed was another snag in a life that already felt way too complicated—Lara entered the number. Seconds later, Detective Brad Archer’s familiar voice answered, “Archer here. That you, Lara?”

“Yes,” she replied. Normally, she’d have asked what he needed, but a part of her didn’t want to know.

Detective Archer had shot and wounded Ken Beauchamp, setting a string of events into play that led to the man’s eventual capture. Since Beauchamp was dead, Lara assumed Archer must want something from her— and pretty badly to call at such an ungodly hour.

There was a pause, typical of what law enforcement officers did when they thought they might have a reluctant recruit on the other end of the phone. Lara’s stomach tightened, and she relaxed her grip on the phone because her hand was cramping.

“I—I’m calling to ask a favor, Dr. McInnis,” he began formally.

She girded herself for whatever the request might be. Trev and I owe him big time. If it’s a favor, I’ll have to at least try to help, even though I’m so overwhelmed with everything else I’m drowning.

“It’s my daughter, Adriana,” Brad choked out, anguish blasting through the phone lines. “Lara—she’s missing.”

“That’s terrible! What happened?” Shocked by his revelation, she sat up straighter in bed. More than that, though, she was confused why he was calling her. “Don’t you have an entire fleet of officers who hunt for missing persons?”

“Yes, we do. Even a couple psychics. That’s the problem, Doctor, uh, Lara. Even with all that, they’ve been hunting for her for almost a week and haven’t found a single lead.”

“How old is she?” Lara asked. Warnings rained from her psychic side, but she ignored them.

“Seventeen.” Archer’s voice was about an octave too high and strained.

“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” Lara suggested gently. “After all, teenagers are notorious for this sort of thing. Are you certain she didn’t run off with some boy? Or that she’s not holed up with a girlfriend?

Did you or your wife have a fight with her?”

“No fights, but I’m not sure about either of the other two,” Brad admitted. “Look, Lara, I know you’re busy, but I could really use your, ah, special abilities to help me.” He sighed heavily, and his breath whistled from between what sounded like clenched teeth. “There’s not even a fucking clue, Doctor. Not one. My men have worked this thing to within an inch of its life.”

Tormented words tore out of him. “Her car’s disappeared, which isn’t all that unusual in kidnapping cases, but so have her motor vehicle and school records. Whatever happened to her, it wiped her off the face of

the Earth. Christ, her hospital birth records don’t even exist anymore. And my wife…” He stopped, obviously struggling for control. “She’s been sedated for the past three days. When she wakes up, she starts screaming.

Adriana was…is our only child.”

Lara closed her eyes. The amulet hanging around her neck pricked unpleasantly. So there’s magic involved here.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, I’m still here. I’m thinking.”

“Please.” The single word held all the angst of a man caught in an ever-tightening web.

“Okay, I’ll meet you wherever you want around noon.”

“I’ll come to you,” he said quickly. “Your office?”

“Yes,” she replied. “If you brought lunch, we could eat while we work.”

“No problem,” Archer replied. “Thanks, Lara.” Before he rang off, she heard him crying, sobbing actually, in great, gulping gasps. More than anything, that gave her pause. He was tough, a twenty year veteran of the police force. Her fears about what she’d just agreed to skyrocketed when the amulet—with its uncanny sensitivity to psychic events—radiated disapproval by sending waves of bitter cold against her skin…

Dark Promise Soul Storm Book 3 Ann Gimpel

Dream Shadow Press 108K words Release Date: 1/29/15 Genre: Urban Fantasy Some choices can never be undone.

Book Description: Lara and Trevor flee Seattle in the wake of rising chaos. Like raptors drawn to road kill, de-

mons converge on what’s left of civilization, urging it to implode even faster.

In this final book of the Soul Storm series, Lara and Trevor’s relationship undergoes stresses that threaten to annihilate them. Constantly hungry, besieged by dark forces, they need every resource they’ve developed as a couple to keep from ripping each other apart. With her mentors snared in a chokehold by Goblins, Lara has only her half-baked magic standing between survival and certain death for herself, her love, and their unborn child.

The remote location that was supposed to solve all their problems has done anything but.

Though she works diligently, Lara’s crash course in magic proves woefully inadequate. Trevor’s determined to protect his family, but he’s developed a decidedly haunted edge from all the carnage.

When he’s captured by demons, Lara curses their decision to leave Seattle, risks everything to go after him, and falls headlong into a cunningly crafted trap.

Available at Amazon

Excerpt Dark Promise: …Trevor let himself out the kitchen door, Brad’s Heckler and Koch tucked under his arm. In a distant corner of his brain, he thought he must be mad to march off to face Christ-only-knew-what with a weapon he’d never fired before. Feels like it did the night I snuck out into the dark to see who had the night vision lamp.

This gun didn’t do shit when Brad fired it that night. Not against Goblins. With memories swamping him, Trevor felt ill. He tightened his grip on the gun’s stock, and his breath came way too fast as he scanned the yard for movement.

The only reason he’d survived that other night was because a goddess had intervened. He didn’t figure he’d be that lucky twice. Besides, the supernatural creatures seemed to have other things on their minds. He’d cornered Elidora a couple days before to ask what was wrong. The Carlisle witch-woman mumbled something cryptic in Celtic Gaelic. Trying to decipher it after she left, he wondered if the Dreaming might not be under Demon attack.

Standing on the bottom step, with the comforting bulk of the house behind him, Trevor tried reaching out with all his senses. At first, the frantic beat of his heart drumming in his ears overwhelmed everything else.

He forced himself to take some steadying breaths. Somewhere between them, he caught a sense of something not quite right, and the fine hairs on the nape of his neck quivered. He peered anxiously around the familiar yard, illuminated by strands of sunlight peeking through fluffy clouds. Nothing moved. In an effort to be methodical, he shifted his gaze from left to right, then back again.

Still nothing.

Is something hiding in the trees? That’s what they did last time. A vision of the Goblin that had jumped Brad rose unbidden, and Trevor bit hard on his lower lip. “No Goblins,” he mumbled. “They haven’t been here since that night. No reason they should come back.”

Bolstered somewhat by the sound of his own voice, he straightened his back, seeking courage to move

away from the house. None of the animals were making any unusual noises like they would if they were frightened. Whatever had stirred up the goats before must have left. He checked the safety—clicking it off with fingers that weren’t as steady as he might have liked—and patted his pocket for the spare magazines Brad had shoved into his hand, the last of the ammunition for the automatic rifle.

“Best get moving,” he muttered, striding purposefully across the yard. He glanced from side to side to reassure himself no one else was there. Deciding to check the barn first, since it was closest to the house, he altered course. When he got there, he unlatched the door and pushed it open.

“Mary, mother of God,” he gasped and fell back a step, as he took in a scene out of the nine levels of Dante’s Inferno. Something—or someone—had slaughtered the goats. Blood was everywhere. The floor was slick with it, and it blotched the walls. Nausea roiled through him. Trevor struggled not to vomit. A muted bleat came from somewhere. As he sought its source, a kid crept from under one of the corpses mewling piteously.

“Poor thing.” Trevor reached down to stroke the small creature. It shook as it nuzzled his hand. He wondered how it had escaped, then realized its mother must have thrown herself atop her child. The reality of what the carnage meant hit home. He tasted fear, bitter and acrid. A metallic taste filled his mouth, burning its way deep into his soul.

Goblins. There are Goblins here. There must be. No animal could have done this and latched the door behind him.

Trevor’s head snapped up. He felt sure he heard something, its feet slogging through the mud. Lurching to the still-open barn door, he opened fire, swinging the weapon in a broad swath, while trying to avoid firing directly at the house. He still didn’t see anything, but he knew in his guts he wasn’t alone. Hadn’t been since he set foot in the yard. That was why he felt so odd. He fired another burst, hoping against hope to hit something.

A shriek, and then another, assailed him. It sounded like someone was being murdered five feet away.

He twisted wildly from side to side, but didn’t see a thing. His mind rebelled at the contradiction. He lunged to pick up the kid and make a run for the house, but something closed about him from behind. Panting hot and fast, he swung the gun barrel sideways to hit whatever was there, but didn’t have enough reach.

Laughter brayed. The same damned, maniacal laughter he’d heard the last time Goblins showed up. A cloying miasma, reminiscent of road kill lying in the sun too long, clogged his nostrils.

Even though he still couldn’t see what had him, steel bands wrapped around his chest. Breathing became difficult. He considered yelling for Brad, but didn’t want either the crippled detective or, God forbid, Lara, anywhere near what was happening to him. Fear clawed at his belly. The edges of his vision grayed as his oxygen supply diminished.

“For bloody fuck’s sake, I’m going to die here,” he growled, just before the darkness swirling ever closer dragged him downward…

About the Author: Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. She’s also a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. She’s published over 20 books to date, with several more contracted for 2014 and beyond.

A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family. www.anngimpel.com http://anngimpel.blogspot.com http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author @AnnGimpel

What inspired you to become an author?

My grandmother was a writer, so it was just something that was always a viable option. I actually don’t know how people who didn’t grow up with a writer ever got around to it. I also feel the same way about people who don’t patronize their local library.

Do you write in different genres?

Oh yes. I think genre writing is the best writing. I love to combine them and smash them together, even if only a trace of one bleeds into the other. It’s lots of fun.

If yes which is your favorite genre to write?

So many! It’s hard for me to pick a favorite, because it is very mood based. Some days I want to write a mystery, other days a sci-fi, and still others horror. And on other days, I want to throw them all in a blender and see what happens.

Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?

Usually they’re the last thing I pick, because I am so terrible at them.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

Life is short, and some risks are worth taking.

Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?

Some, but so coated in fiction I think they’d be impossible to recognize. And that’s a good thing in the case of the first character to die on page, as he is based loosely on a person I do not like.

What books/authors have influenced your life?

The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy and Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas are huge influ-

ences on me, but you probably never would have guessed that. So are the works of Raymond Chandler and Joseph Hansen. I think if I started listing all the books that influenced my life, the list might not stop.

What books are in your to read pile?

So many! I’ll just pick the top three. This Is Not A Love Story by Suki Fleet, The Hitman Cometh by Edward Kendrick, and Meatworks by Jordan Castillo Price.

What is your current “work in progress” or upcoming projects?

I’m writing a Holden spin-off of the Infected series, and a supervillain love story. And I have a lot of other things in the works.

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

(This is from the supervillain story, currently titled Hearts of Darkness) Not for the first time, Kaede wondered what would happen if he decided to burn everything down. Just set it all on fire.

He wouldn't, Fleur De Lis was a great restaurant, but sometimes he wondered what his father's limit was. Would he find a way to bail him out of everything? It wasn't a boundaries thing, he wasn't a child craving them, he was just curious if there was a line he couldn't cross. Maybe when your dad was a super-villain, you just got used to the evil after a while.

Even though he was currently attending university under a fake identity, his father still made sure enough people knew he had some kind of connection that he was always treated like a VIP. Kaede found it awkward and tiresome, although he knew he shouldn't complain about superior service. But the elitism of it all did bother him.

Currently, he was the only lone diner in the VIP section. There were two couples, one older and one younger, although they were a study in contrasts. The older couple looked like a long time married folks out for an anniversary dinner, while the younger couple was a guy with slicked back hair and a thousand dollar suit, and a fancy coifed woman whom he was willing to bet was a working girl. A high class one to be sure, but still a hooker. What kind of douchebag was that guy? Was he living out some kind of Pretty Woman fantasy? He was probably a stockbroker or something like that. Kaede hated him on principal.

Otherwise, the VIP section was empty. They had faint piano music and two waiters all to themselves.

The rest of the place, the noisier, more crowded part of the restaurant, was separated by a doorway that most people probably didn't know existed. You entered and exited through a private door, so you never had to associate with the riff raff. Kaede wondered if his dad liked this, and that's why he insisted on him getting the same treatment.

His soup arrived, and he shared polite smiles with the waiter, who was handsome enough, if on the short side. Was he gay? Kaede may have been the son of a super-villain, but he had no gaydar at all, and his father never invented a thing that could do that for him. Or had he? He should ask, if he ever saw him again.

He might not. Kaede sporadically saw his father, and with little warning. It had been that way his entire life. Because so many people wanted to kill his dad or blackmail him into working for them, Kaede was a target from day one. So his father kept him moving, with new lives on new continents with new names and new guardians, most of which were professional nannies. His father hadn't raised him in any respect, and he had no idea who his mother was. Every time Kaede asked, he got a different name. Since his father worked so much with cloning, he did wonder if he was his clone and not actually a son, in spite of their different names. He knew there were rumors, but Kaede also knew better than to expect any real answers from his brilliant but certifiably crazy father.

He tucked into his soup, which was decent enough, but he found himself craving the excellent hot and sour soup he found at this Chinese place downtown. It was probably home to more than a few health code vio-

lations, but the hot and sour soup was excellent, and abundant with tofu and mushrooms. Even though he was enjoying this fancier concoction, he knew he'd probably stop after dinner to get a bowl of the cheaper hot and sour stuff. Although his father often insisted that the more expensive the better as far as food and booze were concerned, that simply wasn't true. Well, at least not all the time.

Kaede was finally trying his wine, which he'd been letting breathe, when he heard the distant sound of breaking glass.

It wasn't someone dropping a glass. This was a solider sound, heavier, and it seemed to be out in the public part of the restaurant. Now it was possible a bottle of wine or a particularly loaded platter hit the floor, but Kaede had developed something of a sixth sense for trouble. It was possible that was an actual thing his father gengineered in him, but he'd never said.

Kaede had slipped down, beneath the table, when the inner door of the VIP section slammed open, and bullets started flying. He heard brief, aborted screams, and he was really sorry for the other diners. Well, okay, only the older couple and the working girl. Wall Street boy could eat a bag of dicks.

“We know you're here, Hayashi!” a man bellowed, as the sounds of gunshots still rung in Kaede's ears.

“We'll burn this place down if we hafta! Show yourself!”

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

I am so bad at titles. If there is a class on learning how to title things, I need it.

Who designed the cover of your latest book?

Anne Cain has done all the Infected covers, and she is fantastic. I couldn’t ask for a better artist.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Keep at it. Don’t stop. A rejection just means the story isn’t right for those people. It might be right for someone else.

Do you have a song or playlist (book soundtrack) that you think represents this book?

I make soundtracks for all my stories, whether people want them or not. Here is one of them: https://8tracks.com/notmanos/infected-preysoundtrack-mix Infected: Prey Infected Series Book One Andrea Speed Genre: Gay mystery/urban fantasy Publisher: DSP Publications ISBN: 163216325X

ASIN: B00NJRJZGG Number of pages: 376 Word Count: 152,000 Cover Artist: Anne Cain Book Description: In a world where a werecat virus has changed society, Roan McKichan, a born infected and excop, works as a private detective trying to solve crimes involving other infecteds.

The murder of a former cop draws Roan into an odd case where an unidentifiable species of cat appears to be showing an unusual level of intelligence. He juggles that with trying to find a missing teenage boy, who, unbeknownst to his parents, was “cat” obsessed. And when someone is brutally murdering infecteds, Eli Winters, leader of the Church of the Divine Transformation, hires Roan to find the killer before he closes in on Eli. Working the crimes will lead Roan through a maze of hate, personal grudges, and mortal danger. With help from his tiger-strain infected partner, Paris Lehane, he does his best to survive in a world that hates and fears their kind… and occasionally worships them.

Available at DSP Publications

Amazon

Excerpt: HE was on his third beer of the evening when he thought he heard a noise in the backyard.

Hank DeSilvo scowled and looked out the window over the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes. He could see nothing but darkness, and maybe a bit of reflected light from the television. This was probably a bad time to remember the back porch light had blown out two days ago, and he’d forgotten to replace it.

Not that it mattered. The only light currently in the house was coming from the television, and as long as he ignored it, he developed enough night vision to make out a shape moving in the back garden. Or was it the wind moving a shrub? Kind of hard to say.

He slammed his can down with an annoyed grunt. It was probably the Hindles’ stupid ass dog again, shitting all over the place and tearing through his garbage. He hated that fucking thing, some ugly Rottweiler mix they insisted was a “friendly” dog, and yet it always had a look in its flat, black eyes that was just this side of rabid. They never leashed the damn thing either, and apparently his yard destruction was “cute.” He was just about out of this fucking place and that damn thing had to make a final appearance. And it was final all right; he was going to make damn sure of that.

He went back to the living room, glancing at the game as he walked past—it was a fucking damn boring game anyway—and got his shotgun from the cabinet. It was illegal as all hell, a sawed-off thirty ought six with the barrels cut so short you could have stowed it under a jacket, but the barrels had been filed down expertly; it wasn’t just the rough work of a desperate amateur but the sign of a pro. Which was why, when they’d searched the drug mule’s truck and he’d found it wedged under the front seat, he hid it in his trunk and didn’t report finding it. It wouldn’t have added that much to the mule’s sentence; he already had enough rock in his glove compartment to put him away for the rest of his pointless life, especially if it was his “third strike” (and

it was, no surprise there), and he doubted the guy was so stupid that he’d actually ask why he wasn’t charged with owning an illegally modified weapon. Yeah, he was dumb; you had to be dumb if you were speeding and had a few thousand in rock in the car, as well as being obviously stoned yourself. But asking after that was a special kind of stupid, the kind only politicians and people on reality television ever seemed to crest.

He cracked open the gun and made sure he had some shells loaded in it before snapping it shut again with a sharp flick of his wrist. Man that felt good. This was a real man’s weapon, made him feel a foot taller and made of pure muscle, and he knew why that meth fuckhead was carrying it around with him. A weapon like this was a real god-killer; it made you feel invincible.

It was pure overkill, of course. The Hindles’ dog was fairly big, and yet one shot from this gun would rip it in half clean down the middle, as well as make a boom loud enough to set off every car alarm on the block. But what the fuck did he care? He was an ex-cop; he’d say the dog charged him, and on his property he could shoot the fucking thing if he wanted. He’d swap out the sawed-off for his Remington before they arrived.

Ballistics wouldn’t match, but by the time they proved that, he’d be long gone. Good-bye, shit-hole city; hello, tropical paradise. It was just a shame that it took him this long to collect.

He stood at the back door for a moment, cradling the shotgun gently, and let his eyes get adjusted to the dark before going out onto the concrete patio. He had a mini Maglite with him with a red lens over the bulb, so if there was something he needed to see he could twist it on without losing his night vision. Not that he needed to make a direct hit; even if he just winged the dog, he’d probably rip half its face off, maybe a leg.

First step off the patio his foot squelched in something; it felt too liquid to be shit, but the smell that hit him was meaty, redolent of shit and offal and God knew what else. Had that fucking dog already strewn his garbage about? Goddamn it.

Holding the shotgun in one arm, he turned on the flashlight and looked down at what he’d stepped in.

At first it looked like a puddle, which didn’t make sense since it hadn’t rained in a week, and the thought that it was dog piss was dismissed since it was dark, and dog piss wasn’t usually black. Or was that red -black? Swinging the light outwards, he saw greasy, ropey strands that couldn’t have come from his garbage can, and then a big hunk of raw, bloody meat like a lamb shank… only it was too long and thin to be a shank, too dark, and ended in a paw.

It was a Rottweiler leg.

Someone—something—had dismembered the Hindles’ psychotic dog and spread about a third of it all over his backyard. He saw the leg, which was the biggest piece, an assortment of internal organs, loops of intestines laid out like fallen party streamers, and lots of blood. But where was the other two thirds of the dog?

The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he knew he had to get the fuck inside now. But as he turned, shotgun at the ready and braced against his hip, he saw the flash of white teeth in the dim moonlight, and his brain sent out the impulse to pull the trigger.

He didn’t have time to wonder why it never happened as the teeth ripped open his throat.

About the Author:

Andrea Speed was born looking for trouble in some hot month without an R in it. While succeeding in finding Trouble, she has also been found by its twin brother, Clean Up, and is now on the run, wanted for the murder of a mop and a really cute, innocent bucket that was only one

day away from retirement. (I was framed, I tell you - framed!)

In her spare time, she arms lemurs in preparation for the upcoming war against the Mole Men. Viva la revolution!

Website: www.andreaspeed.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/andrea.speed.3 Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Andreaspeedwriter Twitter: @aspeed

Google+: https://plus.google.com/109420358312270961913/posts Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/andreaspeed

Hello, naughty readers. My name is R.M. Garry and I write sexy paranormal novels.

I had a lot of adventures in college which is why my stories are so titillating. The tale I am sharing with you involves a difficult course and a vampire. Even if you don't believe in vampires, this story is so strange that it might change your mind.

As usual, the names and events have been altered to protect the not so innocent.

RESEARCH, STATISTICS, AND A VAMPIRE "Ms. Joseph, wake up."

Calloused fingers nudged my shoulder. The touch was insistent. I knew the voice without opening my eyes. Only one person would call me Ms. Joseph instead of Sabine.

It was Dr. Jaime Moreno. His sent alone could send me into overdrive. My throat went dry at the thought of his hands on me.

It is so hard to think when he is so close to me.

I was a fourth-year student at the University and had grown accustomed to his presence at the library.

He would work from there during finals in case students required extra assistance. Everyone asked for help in his class. He always insisted on teaching the evening courses. Other professors gladly passed on the late night sections. The students in those sessions generally worked during the day and had no ability to fully grasp the material. Eventually, the faculty member would be overwhelmed by the additional study time needed by the night students. Dr. Moreno was different. Even after four lectures, he would go to the library to provide further assistance.

Dr. Jaime Moreno was the department lead for research and statistics. Since I had the bright idea of becoming a Biochemical Engineer, research and statistics was a mandatory course. He was also the leading specialist and faculty advisor for my program.

I had been breathing his air for four years, and it still had to power to make me lightheaded.

"Are you evaluating a new method for understanding the course text?" He inquired.

I hated his sexy Columbian accent. It was distracting. How could any woman study with that kind of sin staring her in the face? I tried to see him through squinted eyes, but the view was not enough. Those beautiful green beacons deserved more. My head made a valiant effort to come up off the table then failed. The response to his question came from behind my big brown hoodie.

"The material is so interesting that I fell into a state of suspended excitement.� I retorted.

Yeah, I totally made that up. Even my imagination responds to his presence.

"Which topic made you so excited that you fell asleep?"

"All of them?"

I searched blindly on my lap for the nearly dry highlighter I had been using.

"Why don't you call it a night, Ms. Joseph? You’ve been here since 6 p.m."

"I just need another coffee. Then I can mentally devour the research on soil biology."

"It’s midnight; you don't need caffeine. Studies have found that a lack of sleep leads to a decrease in cognitive functioning.”

His words caressed my frayed nerves. It was midnight and I was exhausted. The library stayed open until 2 a.m., but my brain had shut down hours ago. It was time to call it a night. I was able to finally force my head off the table. I began to fill my backpack. The previously mentioned dead brain decided to wander into curiosity.

He has been in class for most of the evening and then came to the library. Why isn’t he tired?

The hairs on my arms stood in warning as he shifted to stand behind my seat. His proximity was the most action I had seen in over a year.

My life was so glamorous. At the ripe age of 21, most of my nights had been spent huddled in the library.

My idea of provocative was an unproven biological or chemical theory. As I pondered the suckishness of my youth, he gently brushed my hair. I jumped at the feel of the light touch.

Oh, holy chemical reactions. He is touching my hair. Ok, Sabine, stay calm. It was probably an accident or my subconscious praying for his attention. I had to break the silence.

“Thank you for waking me up Dr. Moreno. I am a little overwhelmed this term.”

“Is there anything I can help you with Ms. Joseph?”

“You’ve already spent hours tutoring me. What else can I learn?”

His next words were spoken to the exposed skin on my neck.

“There is so much I can teach you, Sabine. These books are limitations on what you can truly learn.”

Every pore, hair, and cell on my neck became electric. My exhausted body pulsed with life. It wanted more. I need more from him.

Touch me, please.

I took a breath and cleared my throat.

“You have taught me so many things. I am honored to have you as faculty advisor.”

Please let this be real.

His dark bronzed skin and green eyes had kept me awake for four years. The things I wanted to do to those toned abs were improper between a student and her advisor. Yet, I help my breath in preparations for his next words. My vital organs battled for life sustaining oxygen as air froze in my lungs. I wanted his next words to own me.

“There are hidden places in your inquisitive brain I want to explore.” He whispered softly into my ear.”

“My test scores can tell you everything you need about my intellectual abilities.”

His slow chuckle sent tingles through my scalp.

“What I am interested in cannot be measured on a Scantron my little scientist.”

I gripped the sides of my seat in hopes of remaining upright. My extensive vocabulary evaporated. How to do you respond to a statement like that? He gave me a brief escape from my thoughts by speaking first.

“Sabine, the choice is yours. I will be waiting outside. If you want more than what you have received in four years, meet me in the library parking lot.”

This was the only time he had ever called me by my first name. The entire time I have known him, it has always been Ms. Joseph. Was I hallucinating?

The moment I tried to ask another question, he was gone.

Okay, there was no way my brain blacked out. He was just here, inviting me to elevate my knowledge. In a rush, my bag was packed and the empty study hall sang the echoes of my rushing feet.

If the sexiest and most intelligent professor on campus wanted to teach me things, I was going for it.

There was sweat coating my hands even in 60-degree weather. As I approached the lot, the most beautiful image set against a moonlit night caught my attention. My Biochemical God was leaning against his fire red Camaro with a smile on his face.

I kept breathing as my lips turned into the Sahara.

Okay, now what?

He wordlessly escorted me to the passenger’s side of his vehicle. I was ushered in. The pleasure of his words erupted over my senses as we were pulling out of his reserved space.

“Thank you for coming to me Sabine.”

Words, I need to string letters together and respond. Help me brain. I took a chance.

“Why me?” I asked.

“You were the shy quiet freshman who challenged my theory on hybrid plant evolution.”

“A lot of student’s challenged you. Science demands that we challenge what is expected.”

His perfectly stated “hmm” sent tingles up my spine. I had quoted a sentence from the very first lecture

he taught during my freshman year.

“No of them made me question everything I know. None of them are you.” He informed in a patient tone. He was accustomed to my numerous questions.

“Why am I Sabine today?” I probed further.

He gave me a quick side glance before returning his focus to the road. The brief look made me squirm in the warm leather seat.

“Your name reminds me of the most succulent fruits in the world. Saying it makes me want to taste you.” He confessed.

There went my final brain cell.

My revelation was whispered. “I almost stayed in the library.”

“I am glad you came to me on your own my sweet.”

“Where are we going?” Yes, this would have been a vital question before getting into the car, but my rusty hormones were in control.

“Home. We are going home.”

I desperately wanted to panic but noticed his hands gripping the wheel tighter. He was waiting for me to rebuke his statement. Fatigue and anticipation battled for ownership within my cells. The energy to do more than surrender to my Chemical God evaporated.

The drive was a short or I was distracted by our conversation.

His house sat on a massive property. It was late, so the only thing visible was the golden gate that stood sentinel against the outside world. We pulled into a garage full of vintage and new cars.

Good Lord, how much does a Biochemist slash professor make?

Thoughts of money and fancy cars vanished as our palms touched. He helped me out of the car. I reached for the backpack and he stopped me.

“You won’t need it. Your body is all we will work with tonight.”

Dear panties, I apologize for your instant combustion.

“Are we conducting a bio experiment?” I questioned in a high pitched squeak.

“Your sense of humor is so refreshing. Ms. Joseph.”

Great. We are back to Ms. Joseph. My panties may just survive.

I was escorted into a grand living room. The colors seemed to blend into the shadows of the fireplace. It felt warm and inviting. I turned in time to watch his green eyes devour my body. The few feet separating our bodies was swallowed within seconds. His hands braced my face.

“Tell me you want this, Sabine. I need to hear you ask for more.”

Words failed me. There was a loss of connection between my brain and my lips.

“If you don’t want this, I can take you home.” His statement was made as he softly caressed my back.

Oh hell no. I did not stalk my watch and spend four years drooling to run away. I am a grown woman.

The University has a strict policy against students and professors engaging in any sexual contact. He took a big risk tonight and I won’t let it be in vain.

“Dr. Moreno, I—.”

He tilted my chin up and spoke softly. My body automatically leaned into his touch.

“Jamie, to you, I am Jaime.”

“I want everything you are willing to give me, Jaime.”

His lips descended in a hungry fury. He kissed and sucked along my throat and jaw. The slow progress towards my lips was maddening. I tangled my fingers in his hair and begged.

“My lips Jamie, please.”

He growled into my skin before finally granting my wish. When our mouths made contact, my skin buzzed. Blood rushed to the surface of my swelling lips to greet his exploring tongue. My mind was lost in the fog and I barely heard him speak.

“Tú eres mi Eternidad.”

Lust clouded the translation for a few seconds, but it finally clicked.

You are my eternity By the time I gave the words their proper translation, it was too late. I felt a sharp prick along my neck.

The strong pull of his lips drove my desire higher. My body felt fuzzy. He was drinking from me. The ache in my core ignited into a full blaze right before the world went dark.

In the morning, I woke up in a massive bed fully clothed and alone. The room was dark except for the

reflection of the glass on the dresser. I must have fallen asleep after a long study session with the professor.

Last night was probably a dream my overworked subconscious had concocted. . It was time to go home and study for the dreaded Research and Statistics finals.

What if I was talking in my sleep? It would be really hard to discuss chemical bonds with Dr. Moreno after begging him to kiss me in my sleep.

I climbed out of the bed on weak legs. Halfway across the room, there was a pulsing on the side of my neck. My hands searched for the anomaly and found two swollen bumps.

“You look beautiful with my mark.”

I screamed and nearly fell. Strong arms held me steady.

“You scared me.”

“Look in the mirror my love. You are the scary one.”

I turned and saw glowing brown orbs where my eyes used to be. His beautiful green beacons were now glowing red. My scream was so loud that it jolted me out of the nightmare. I fell out of the twin bed in my dorm room. The sheets and pillows had lost the battle to remain on the bed. I pulled myself back onto the bed and flopped down. Five deep calming breaths later, I was back to normal.

It was all a dream.

I think…

Until next time naughty readers, stay out of the library.

The Noir Dera Beacon of Sound R.M. Garry Genre: Paranormal Romance ASIN: B00LSSP92C Number of pages: 247 Word Count: 86,260 Book Description: You can fight desire…

Marie DeLou doesn’t want to believe that her life is anything less than perfect. After all, how could it not be? She has a thriving mental health practice and a doting husband who loves her. Still, when a freight train of a man tears through her quiet existence, she has to wonder if things—and people—are not always what they seem to be. …but there’s no stopping destiny Prince Patrick Alvang of the Noir Dera has one job to do--to save the Beacon of Light, Marie DeLou, from the danger lurking within her walls. But between her smoking hot body and her equally fiery attitude, his task is a whole lot more difficult than he’d expected. Lucky for him, it looks like the only way to get to the finish line is to play dirty along the way…

Amazon

CreateSpace Excerpt: A dance with the devil

Marie felt like throwing a party to commemorate the end of her crazy day. She had one client committed and had to stop another session early in order to get her last client to stop crying.

She changed quickly and was ready for the studio within 10 minutes of her last session. She put her new CD on and fought to get through the Brandon traffic.

Brandon, Florida had traffic at all hours of the day. It was as if the traffic Gods rejected the idea of a peaceful drive through the city.

Once she arrived at her studio, she bolted inside and locked the door. She pulled on her silky, beaded skirt and wrapped it snugly around her waist. She then tied a blue scarf to each wrist and began stretching. She turned on the stereo and let the magic begin. Marie started to relax as the sound of Anoushka Shankar’s sitar filled the small dance space.

She could feel the energy coursing through her body. The music threaded through the empty spaces in her spirit. She spun and danced to ISHQ and felt as if she was flying when “Dancing in Madness” floated out of the speakers.

She spared no expense when it came to her studio. It was a place where art came alive. Art and peace were flowing through her body when she saw someone standing outside the studio. Doctor Fallen Angel had come to pay her a visit.

Oh, this is surely the devil’s work.

She would not be decent to him. Refusing to pause the music, she released the deadbolt and let him in.

“Dr. Alvang, I want you to know that Marcel has sold you up the river. There is no way you’ll survive this.” She turned and walked to the center of the studio. She wound her hips to "Si No Puedo Verla" and waited for his response. “You will dance and not complain. You have invaded my peace and I will not give you anything until you’re broken by my music.”

Men hated to dance and she was prepared to mop the floor with the good doctor. Marcel was the only man that could keep pace.

Patrick didn’t hesitate. He walked up behind her and grabbed her by the waist. She relaxed into his hold for a split second. They danced like flames leaping to kiss the air.

It was flawless.

She became lost in the pain, pleasure, joy, and seduction of the sitar and the guitars. Patrick touched every inch of her and demanded that her body respond.

She backed away as her leg slid to his waist. He lifted Marie by the waist and positioned her closer. His palms were on the small of her back. The movement pressed their bodies close. There was no escaping.

It was as if he’d melted into her and bonded them together. The CD ended, and then, without warning, the song changed. Mark Rosas was singing "Higher" and Patrick continued dancing as if the shift in music was inconsequential.

She’d left that dance mix at home.

Why was it playing? The dubstep rhythm in the song gave him an opportunity to really show off. He lifted her into his arms again.

Patrick turned her toward one of the mirrors as he ground into her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his breath brushing against her ear. She was transfixed. Her eyes were glued to the mirror.

Their bodies resembled an erotic oil painting. dance.

Patrick pulled her in tighter and she melted into him. Their legs moved, but Marie was lost in the She heard Mark sing, “I just want to take you higher, com'n let me light your fire."

He spun her around and their eyes met. Patrick's were glowing cobalt beacons that held her gaze. His gaze remained locked on her as if mapping her every emotion. As the song came to an end, he slid her to the floor. And she came to rest in a kneeling position at his feet.

About the Author: R.M. Garry lives with her three male children a.k.a the wolf pack and her husband of 12 years.

Writing allows her to maintain her sanity while juggling her world.

Her goal is to give readers a brief escape from the realities of their world.

When she isn’t writing, R.M. is reading and keeping up with her favorite authors.

For updates and book information readers can visit https://www.rmgarry.com Twitter: @authorrmgarry Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rmgarry Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/RMGarry Word Press Blog: http://authorrmgarry.wordpress.com/

Torrid Book One Jayne Blue Genre: Erotic Romance/ Romantic Suspense ISBN: ASIN: Number of pages: 200 Word Count: 55,000 Cover Artist: Wicked Smart Designs Book Description: Sometimes, the thing you want belongs to someone else…

Jack - Once upon a time I had everything. The perfect family.

The perfect life. In one horrible year, it went away. I can never have it back but I can hurt the man responsible for taking what was left. I know how to steal something even more important from him. He doesn’t see how she looks at me instead of him. I can make her burn for me, make her addicted to me before I send her back.

And it will be so easy.

Tora - I’ll cross any line to get to the truth, no matter who I have to hurt. I don’t have a choice. I’m not afraid to use sex to get what I want. I know you think that makes me a whore. But until you understand what’s at stake, you can’t know.

Don’t judge me until you do.

Sometimes, you have to take what you want no matter what it costs.

About the Author: Like most authors, Jayne’s been writing stories all her life in her head and trying out dialogue into her steering wheel. Her goal is bringing to the page strong heroines, snappy dialogue, interesting predicaments and overall good stories. Throw that all in with some scorching sex scenes and she’ll call it a day.

Jayne’s real life is far less daring. She and her husband and are in the process of rearing a small herd of children. In between her “day job” as a lawyer and media consultant, Jayne has acted as band mom, theatre mom, football mom, wrestling mom and taxi service. Her favorite “homemade” dishes usually have a Costco label on them somewhere.

Jayne lives in the beautiful Irish Hills area of Michigan on a lake where her interesting neighbors always keep her entertained, her husband makes his own wine, and the fish are always biting.

http://www.jayneblue.com/ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8266441.Jayne_Blue https://www.facebook.com/jayneblueauthor https://twitter.com/AuthorJayneBlue